Moonshine
by AbsinthiumsPen
Summary: The fateful events which led to Oswald's rise to power, have taken their toll. His world turns upside down yet again when something unexpected happens.
1. Chapter 1

"You think you know who I am, what I'm capable of? You have no idea."

These words kept echoing in Oswald's head long after they had been spoken.  
He had underestimated Jim Gordon, his capability to be anything less than good and righteous, while overestimating his honesty and first and foremost his sense of friendship. He should have felt exhilarated at the prospect of being the new king of Gotham, though self-proclaimed. And he was… just not to the extent that he would have anticipated.

The first nights after the fateful events, he kept his club running as usual, while keeping tabs on the businesses formerly ran by Falcone and Maroni, trying to get his hands onto as many as possible. As long as he was busy, he felt ambitious and motivated, maybe a little exhausted, but fine. More often than he would have liked however, these nagging thoughts about his friend's betrayal kept reappearing, breaking through the surface of his consciousness and causing the sense of victory to disappear, leaving only a strange feeling of loss and disappointment.

After closing, Oswald sent Gabe home, he needed time to think, to contemplate on the situation, to bathe in his sour mood and hopefully reemerge with fresh ideas and a slightly more positive outlook on the upcoming days and weeks. To his delight, stepping outside onto the gloomy streets of Gotham, he noticed that it had started raining. On occasion, he enjoyed the rain. Not the pouring showers which left him drenched, umbrella or not, but the gentle drizzle which caused an array of little drumming sounds on the pavement and made the gloomy nightscape of the city shimmer in a more pleasant light.

Opening his umbrella, Oswald made his way home through the nearly deserted streets. The rain sort of cheered him up. At least it somehow distracted him from the nagging feeling in his gut, a strange concoction of anxiety, disappointment and bitterness.

It all happened very quickly.

At first, Oswald was sure he was just becoming the unlucky victim of a mugging, thus cursing his carelessness of walking the streets alone at night. But the assailant did not talk, did not demand anything, just swept him off his feet and dragged him into an alley, holding him in an iron grip he had no means whatsoever to escape.

If this was an assassination attempt, why was he still alive? If someone wanted to kidnap him, why was the guy alone and did not knock him out?

But these questions were soon pushed from his consciousness as the man ripped Oswald's tie and the first two buttons of his shirt open, sending the little red and gold pin flying onto the wet concrete. Utterly confused, Oswald held his breath, his heart drumming in his chest, and made an attempt to reach for his knife. The sharp pain he suddenly felt in his neck paralyzed him, however.

In a strange way the situation felt familiar, he did not dare to count how many times he had been close to death, though in every other situation, he had somehow been in control and able to talk his way out, to negotiate. This time was different, he could not speak, he did not understand what was happening to him, he did not even see the man properly. It was as if a shadow was holding him in a tight embrace, slowly sucking the life out of him.

Was this what just happened?

It certainly felt as if he was quickly losing at lot of blood. With terror, he felt his limbs getting colder and weaker, soon the only thing that was holding him up was the firm grip of the man who was pressing his lips to his neck. After a while, Oswald had lost track of time, the panic was displaced by an eerie calm. He did not know if he was going into shock or if his heartbeat just slowed down due to the loss of blood. In any case, it was terrifying. He did not want to die, not like this, not after everything he had accomplished. Suddenly, the man lay him down on the wet pavement, surprisingly gently. He still could not make out his face, it was hidden behind a dark hood and his vision was starting to get blurry.

"Drink if you want to live."

The voice was oddly familiar, but Oswald could not quite place it at that moment. Not that it mattered.

What was he supposed to drink that could possibly safe his life?  
He understood when the man bit his own wrist and offered it to him, softly pressing it against his lips. While any coherent thoughts left him, intuition took over and he began drinking the stranger's blood hungrily and desperately. The sensation that flooded his body was like nothing he had ever experienced before. It was like a drug, like fire crawling its way through his veins, taking him over completely.

Too quickly, the man pulled his wrist away again and the warm feeling subsided. What was left was the strangest sensation. His lungs were gasping for air and his heart was desperately trying to keep beating. It hurt, but not as much as he expected. Somehow he had an odd feeling of weightlessness, like levitating off the ground whilst feeling the cold concrete underneath his body and the rainwater soaking his clothes. He could not tell if it was his quizzical look or if he actually managed to ask what was happening, but the man answered.

"It's just your body that's dying. Pay no attention."

The words were nearly a whisper, even if Oswald had had the capacity to remember to whom the voice belonged, he most likely would not have found an answer. The message, however, sunk in. It terrified him, beyond anything he had ever experienced. Coughing and panting, he tried to get hold of something to steady himself and found the stranger's arm. With a surprising amount of strength, he held onto it and did not let go until the horrible feeling subsided and his body stopped fighting. The warm sensation in his veins and the cold feeling in the rest of his body took over. For a moment, the world around him seemed to disappear and the only thing that was left were the vague thoughts of the few people he cared about wandering through his mind like ghosts, until everything vanished in a cloud of heavy fog.

When Oswald woke up, the man was gone. It took him a while until he realized that he was still alive, somehow at least. He could even muster the strength to shakily stand up and find his umbrella. With jittery hands, he felt for the wound on his neck. There was nothing but a slight unevenness, and a lot of blood.

How he had managed to finally make his way home, he did not remember ** _._** It was all a blur of sounds, colors, smells and confusing sensations. The only thought he could somehow come up with, was that he was glad he had hastily rented a room of his own after the recent events. Feeling the crosshair on his chest, he was too worried for his mother to stay home for the time being. It was only a small room in a little hotel close to the club. Oswald planned to find a proper apartment soon, after things settled down a bit.

He must have fallen asleep, when he woke up, the setting sun was shining through the gaps between the dusty curtains. At first, he was sure he had had a nightmare; maybe someone put something really nasty in his drink. But when he noticed the dried blood on his shirt and suit, realization struck him. So it had not been a dream.

Though if not, what on earth had happened to him?

Slowly, Oswald tried to sit up. It felt like the weirdest hangover he had ever experienced. He felt nauseated, had a really bad headache and the light that was coming through the curtains was way too bright for his liking. With unsteady steps, he made his way to the bathroom, dreading the look that might greet him in the mirror. Indeed his eyes widened when he saw his reflection. He looked pale even for his standards, eyes dark and red rimmed. All the caked blood made him look like an extra straight out of a cheap zombie movie. Sighing, he peeled himself out of his clammy clothes and took a shower. The hot water made some of the life crawl back into his limbs and when he exited the cubicle and toweled himself down, he almost felt like himself again.

It struck him when he got to the next step of his routine, after brushing his teeth, he panicked for a second when he saw that the foam he spat out was tinged slightly red. This made him remember the weirdest part of past night's encounter. So he really did drink the stranger's blood after all. Faintly hoping to find a tiny cut in his gums or lips, he inspected his mouth more closely.

Something else had changed, something that made Oswald feel suddenly very dizzy. Upon closer look his canines were longer and more pointed than usual. It was not too obvious if one payed little attention, but Oswald knew it had been different before, significantly.

Carelessly grasping for the bathrobe, he limped back into the bedroom and lay down.

He knew what had happened to him. The only problem was that his explanation was by all means impossible.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a soft rapping at the door that woke him up this time. Without noticing, he had asleep again. Still in his bathrobe, it took Oswald a while to collect himself and sit up.

"Boss? You're there?" Gabe's voice sounded a little worried.

Clearing his throat, the younger man answered, while slowly getting up from his mattress and dragging himself to entrance of his hotel room.

"Good evening… I'm afraid, I might have overslept a little."

After letting his henchman in, he went on by gathering some suitable clothing.

"There's blood on the bed." Gabe noticed matter-of-factly. Though his demeanor was as neutral as ever, the view obviously puzzled him.

"Hm? Oh, that… I got attacked by some lowlife on my way home, nothing to worry about."

The answer earned him a frown, but Gabe did not ask any further.

* * *

Compared to the past night, the weather had improved and the clouds had made way for a clear sky. At least as clear as the Gotham sky could be. The slight improvement nevertheless caused more guests to flock to the club soon after opening.

Oswald however, did not pay much attention to them. Butch could take care of it, he had more important business to attend to. Though this was more or less just an excuse, he really did not feel up to the task of greeting customers tonight. Just like on his way home, the world around him seemed to buzz, the colors and smells were too intense, the sounds too loud and obnoxious, causing his head to hurt and his concentration to dissolve. The drink in his hand helped a little to numb his senses to a level that was sort of agreeable. He did not want to face the changes he was undergoing. Hell, he did not even trust his own judgment anymore.

His prior idea might have explained all that had happened quite perfectly, but it was way too absurd to be taken seriously. The guy that attacked him must have used some perfidious drug on him, god knew he had enough enemies at the moment. Uncomfortable as the effect was, Oswald could work with this explanation. It made him feel oddly reassured and put his feet back on the ground. That his leg did not bother him much for once, was only a small comfort.

While he was still pondering about the events of the past night, one of the waiters announced an unexpected guest.

Jim Gordon was without a doubt the last person he wanted to meet in his current state. The wounds of his betrayal were still too fresh and it took Oswald enough strength as it was not to let his feelings show. He greeted his former friend sitting behind his stately desk, hands folded before him, if only to prevent them from shaking.

"Detective… what a surprise. I did not expect to see you again so soon." His voice was level, the look on his face composed and professional. He did not feel comfortable to address the other in a more amiable and informal way like he used to. Jim had most thoroughly forfeit his right to be treated like a friend.

"Evening…" Jim did not meet his eyes, he just stood in the door frame as he seemed to assess the situation. His sense of discomfort was more than apparent.

"I'm here about a case."

"Of course." Even though Oswald had expected this answer, he felt strangely disappointed.

"Forgive me if I am a little surprised you want my help again after, well, I'm sure you remember."

That led Jim to meet his eyes for a brief moment before studying the tips of his shoes with a pronounced frown.

"I don't want your help. I just need you to answer a few questions."

Slowly, he approached Oswald's desk, meeting his eyes again, and finally sat down in the chair opposite of him.

"Well, that sounds suspiciously like help to me… Unless of course I am part of said case." The thought made him shift uneasily in his chair. Jim could have a lot of dirt on him, to bring it up now just seemed particularly cruel.

"We have found something that belongs to you. That and a dubious amount of blood."

Before he could think of what he might have lost, he unconsciously reached for his tie. He must have left it in the alley after the attacker ripped it off. At least, it meant he was not guilty of any crime concerning this matter.

"Oh, that. Yes…" He swallowed hard, the images still vivid. "I got mugged tonight on my way home from the club. The assailant ripped off my tie during the quarrel."

The look on Jim's face betrayed his controlled façade. This was not the answer he had expected.

"And the blood? Can you describe what happened in a little more detail?"

Oswald sighed audibly. He felt drained, even after such a short time with his former friend.

"Well, there isn't much to tell. Someone dragged me into an alley, he was wearing a hood and it was dark, so I couldn't see his face or make out any details. I tried to fend him off, he tore off my tie, then somehow injured my neck. When he saw my knife, he fled. I lost consciousness, but I came to myself eventually and was able to make my way home."

The whole story about the stranger sucking his blood was simply too odd to tell. It made much more sense this way anyhow. The patch that covered the gash on his neck conveniently supported the story.

It took Jim a while to respond, he seemed to ponder about whether or not to believe the explanation.

"Did you see a doctor?" The words sounded forceful, but the slight growl did not sufficiently mask the worry in his voice.

A little irritated, Oswald shook his head.

"No. You know how things are… I got lucky, there was a lot of blood at first, but the flow ceased quickly. I did not need any professional medical treatment. So no, there is no doctor to support my story." He did not know if the added the last sentence out of spite or frustration, but it caused Jim to blink and break eye contact.

"You understand I need to make sure the blood was yours. If you don't accuse the attacker, the case will be dropped and I won't bother you any further." To Oswald's surprise, Jim sounded a little hurt.

"A DNA sample?" Slightly amused, he huffed and leaned over his desk. "I suppose it's this or you're taking me in and I have to give you a blood sample at the precinct, hm?" King or not, with an unwavering cop such as Jim, he had little choice but to oblige.

"Yes. That would be the procedure."

Despite already knowing how Jim would respond, Oswald felt disappointed again. He nodded and Jim produced a small kit out of his coat pocket. Obviously he had prepared in advance to take the sample.

"I agree to the test, just in case you need to hear that… by the book detective you are."

Jim seemed to me slightly miffed by the comment, but proceeded to prepare the tools. When he stood up to bring the Q-tip to Oswald's mouth, he looked at him in surprise, but decided against saying whatever was on his mind, took the sample and leaned back again while carefully pocketing the probe.

As obvious as Jim's surprised expression had been, Oswald failed to notice it. For a brief moment, something distracted him. He had never noticed Jim's smell before, not the way he just did. Of course he had occasionally caught a whiff of his cologne, but this was something else entirely. This time it had clearly not been an artificial fragrance, what it was exactly, Oswald could not put into words. The only thing he knew was that he immediately missed the scent as it was fading. Blinking, he cleared his throat and shifted back in his chair.

"Will that be it?" He inquired with a coarse voice.

"Yes… thank you." With a forced smile, Jim stood up and nodded. "I will inform you about the result."

Arching his eyebrows, Oswald cocked his head to the side and allowed himself a wry smile.

"As you wish, I already know how it will turn out."

With a slightly more honest half-smile, Jim nodded again and left the office without another word.

* * *

It did not take Nygma long to analyze the DNA sample and compared it with the blood which had been found in the alley. As much as the forensic scientist's over enthusiastic attitude about work annoyed him on occasion, Jim was more than content to have the results on his desk before calling it a day.

He did not like to admit it, not even to himself, but he felt bad about the way he treated his former so-called friend. Even though he never reciprocated the feelings of friendship, he did not dislike Cobblepot per se. It was the thought of fraternizing with the enemy that haunted him, especially what it would have meant for his work and reputation. He simply had never been comfortable with letting any feelings of sympathy through his carefully crafted shell of professional mistrust.

Knowing that the mobster somehow lost trust in him being the only honest man left in Gotham, bothered him for various reasons. First and foremost because he liked to think of himself as just that, one of the few truly honest men this city had left, though somehow he could not shake off the feeling of having let down a friend or at least, an ally. Today's visit had not eased his bad conscience, unfortunately, it had made it even worse. It surprised him how much the other's cool and distanced behavior actually hurt him, wasn't this the type of interaction he had always hoped for with Cobblepot? Neutral and without that uncomfortable friendliness.

And yet, there was something else that shook him even more than his words. The other man had looked horrible, even paler than usually, probably due to the blood loss. He had seemed awfully stressed out, none of his inherent cheerfulness left that had greeted Jim on so many occasions. And there was this peculiar image which had caught his eye while getting the sample. He had never paid any attention to the other's teeth before, but he could have sworn that he would have noticed such pronounced canines. Not that it mattered much, he most likely just forgot about it or had fallen victim to a trick of lighting. But it added to his overall confusion.

"You did get a clean probe, didn't you, detective?"

Nygma's sudden address made Jim jump and look up at the taller man in surprise. He did not even notice how much lost in thought he had been.

"I… yes, of course."

"That's interesting. I could single out the DNA and match it with the blood, but something was different, I've never seen anything like it. All the strands were a perfect match… just that they behaved… differently." Nygma was obviously intrigued and a little fussy. He seemed puzzled, but really happy about his findings.

Jim just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was anything but happy with the prospect of one more irritating fact to consider.

"And that is significant for the case how exactly?"

"Most likely not at all. Maybe he took some medication that momentarily caused the fluctuation. I have just never seen anything like it." The smile that was plastered on his face did not waver.

"Right… Medication, stimulant… whatever he took, as long as it's no illegal drug, I don't care."

Besides, Cobblepot would not have agreed so readily to give the sample if he had been using some restricted substance.

"No, no, I don't think it his." Nygma shook his head, but did not move.

"Anything else?" Jim felt horribly tired. His colleague shook his head again and turned on his heels, his smile becoming a little stiff.

"And thanks, Ed. You've been a great help." Glad he had thought of adding the comment, Edward's smile grew wider again and he left, obviously heading towards an evening of voluntary overtime work.

"Don't you wanna call it a night?" Bullock had just returned from the restrooms, if only to snatch his hat and jacket. Their shift was over, after all.

"Yeah… Ed says the DNA matches the blood we've found."

"You're dropping the case now, right? Or did penguin insist on us catching the attacker?" Obviously Jim's partner did not care much for helping the new head of Gotham's underbelly. Earlier on, he even hinted towards it being a little unfortunate the culprit did not finish his victim off.

"It just doesn't add up. The lowlifes should know his face by now, so no one should be stupid enough to try to mug him. And if anyone had planned to kill him, they wouldn't have fled so easily." And then there were the strange fluctuations in Cobblepot's DNA.

"Or maybe someone wanted to frighten him, show him he's not as high and mighty as he thinks." Bullock shrugged and grabbed his keys, his indifferent expression turning into a nasty grin. "Or the guy just has a blood kink."

* * *

"You look like you need a stiff drink." Butch remarked as his boss sat down next to him at the bar. It was late, most of the guests had already left, and the band was playing slow and tranquil music, which was always a sure sign of the night nearing an end.

"No kidding…" Slightly abstracted, Oswald ordered another martini. He had started off with whiskey, but that had quickly become boring. Judging by the lack of food and the amount of alcohol he had consumed during the cause of the evening, he should have been three sheets to the wind. For some reason, he wasn't. The booze had its effects, sure, but they were mild and vanished way too quickly. Oswald blamed it on the drug the cursed stranger had administered him.

"Are you getting any sleep at all lately?" Despite the fact that Butch should probably not have taken Fish's demise on Oswald's hands too kindly, Zsasz' training had taken root even more deeply than anticipated. Whatever mechanisms were working in his subconscious, Gilzean seemed genuinely worried for his employer.

"It might surprise you, but yes. In fact I am. Though I guess I don't look the part, huh?" His pallor did not improve in the past hours. He still looked like a ghost.

"No offence, boss, but no. You look like death warmed over."

That caused Oswald to laugh hoarsely.

"I appreciate your honesty." Toasting Butch and knocking his head back to down his drink, he smiled and shrugged. "I lost a lot of blood last night, it will be better once I've recovered."

Butch nodded, still looking a little worried.

"I'm not sure if you've heard the news yet, but a new club just opened a few blocks from here."

The chance of topic was welcome, the news themselves not so much.

"A nightclub? Don't they know they have to ask for permission? My permission, to be exact."

Oswald's look of amusement was immediately replaced by a mask of anger.

"Yes, but listen. It's called the Moonshine Club, and it's more of a reopening than an actually opening, I guess. It closed more than twenty years ago, when the Falcones and Maronis took over from the Bartinellis. During the prohibition it had been one of the most infamous establishments in this city, hidden under a barber shop, you know?"

Despite his rage, Oswald raised his eyebrows. The information made him curious.

"Oh, how cliché… but carry on, by all means."

"Well, after the prohibition, the club became official and lost a little of its popularity until it finally shut down. Whoever runs it now probably just wanted to cash in on the legend."

"I admit, I have to give them credit for their business plan." Worrying his lip, the smaller man focused his attention on the stage, seemingly thinking about how to deal with the issue at hand.

"Pay them a visit tomorrow, take some muscle with you, but just to make an impression. I want you to remind whoever is running said establishment of who is in charge now. Although I don't like their attitude, I would prefer a peaceful solution. Things are complicated enough as they are."

After all, he had to juggle both the former Dons' businesses now with no room for failure. As much as he was enraged by the case, he had to overcome his temper to avoid any rash actions he might regret later.

"You got it, boss."

"And, would you be so kind to close up in my stead tonight? It might be a good idea to sleep a little earlier to give myself some time to recuperate." He did not feel tired yet, but a little jittery and most definitely exhausted. Hopefully, things would look better in the morning.

* * *

This time, he let Gabe take him home by car, not wanting to take any chances. It took him a while to fall asleep, images of the conversation with Jim resurfacing as soon as he closed his eyes. No matter how much he tried to meet the situation with indifference, he felt a strong pull at his heart each time he was reminded of how gravely he had erred in judging the detective's personality.

But tonight was different. The feeling of disappointment was soon replaced by the memories of another sensation, a more pleasant one, Oswald had to admit. Pleasant, but confusing. It was the scent he had picked up when Jim had leaned forward to get the sample. Just thinking about it caused a wave of comfort wash over him. Comfort and something else, a sort of craving, a sensation he could not quite place.

All he could tell was that it made him feel better than in a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

The following morning, Oswald was greeted by the worst hangover he had ever experienced. Way worse even than the day before. His head hurt as if someone had smashed it into a wall and he felt so thirsty, he was convinced that even a gallon of water would not suffice.

Still half-asleep, he drowsily fought his way out of bed, closed the curtains properly and proceeded by filling a glass with tab water, downing it in one gulp. He was genuinely surprised to notice that his headache vanished almost entirely after a short while, but his thirst could not be quenched by any amount of water he drank.

After four glasses, he gave up and decided to prepare himself a sandwich, perhaps his body was in some way confusing hunger with thirst due to the lingering effects of the drug. It made sense, he did not eat a single thing since leaving the club two nights ago. As soon as he swallowed the first bites, he immediately regretted his decision. It was a miracle he reached the bathroom in time to throw up the food he had just consumed. Panting heavily, he stumbled back to his bed and lay down to catch his breath.

Maybe, it was not the worst idea to visit a doctor, after all. Unfortunately, he hated doctors, even though he could easily bribe the man or woman of his choice to not make the treatment official and thereby traceable. That was the least of his problems, he just did not feel at ease with the idea of a stranger coming uncomfortably close. To top it all up, he despised shots. The medical kind, anyways.

* * *

Even though Oswald felt completely drained, he decided to start work earlier to distract himself from his condition. As expected, Gabe was readily available to pick him up soon after he had called him. When he exited the hotel to enter the car, his headache was back in an instant. Before he could curse heavens for it however, it stopped, right after taking seat in the large Mercedes SE. What on earth was happening to him? No way was it a normal hangover. How could the drug stay in his organism for such a long time? To his annoyance, a smell caught his attention that made his stomach clench with hunger… or thirst? He could not even tell the difference anymore.

"Did you just have breakfast?" He asked irritated.

"Nah, a while ago. Had blueberry pancakes." His henchman had always had a sweet tooth, Oswald remembered. The smell did not fit the description, however. Again, he could not quite place it and decided to ignore it instead.

Once they reached his club, he was greeted by even more distracting scents, it seemed as if everyone who passed him, smelled of something peculiar, but somehow delicious. At least, it was just a few bouncers and some waiters, he did not dare to fathom how a room full of guests would smell like.

Ultimately, he found his salvation in tea. The delicate fragrance masked most of the other distracting smells and the taste was gentle and pleasant on his tongue, and put him more at ease. Next to his tea cup, a lone éclair was arranged quite prettily on a little plate. He did not dare touch it, but neither did he feel the need to do so. It pleased his eyes and nose, which was perfectly sufficient. Why that was, he pondered about while sipping his tea, after a while discarding the thought and carrying on with his paperwork.

* * *

How the hours flew by, he barely noticed, until a guest appeared as unexpectedly as the prior evening. And tonight, this guest was just as unwelcome as the night before.

"Detective… are you here to take me in? Did my DNA not fit the blood sample?" His expression was smug and his words laced with sarcasm. Jim could have saved himself the effort and just called to say the probes matched. After all, it was painfully obvious that he was far from enjoying his visits to the club.

Clearing his throat, the cop approached Oswald's desk and sat down again, obviously feeling as uncomfortable as ever.

"No, it was a perfect match, just like you predicted." It took him a while until he resumed. "It just doesn't add up. Why would anyone in their right mind attack you and then let you get away so easily?"

"And you care why, exactly?" Oswald looked at the other with a puzzled expression. "A few weeks ago, you would have left me to die, chained to a radiator, and now you are worrying your head about someone trying to mug me? In my opinion, that's the only the thing which doesn't add up here."

"I didn't – I wouldn't have left you to die." The words were out before Jim could think about what impact the confession might have. But he did not regret them. He had felt bad about Cobblepot thinking he would have just left him to be finished off by Maroni, even though he had caught the former a second before he could kill Falcone. Attempted murder or not, he would not have left him to die. That was not the kind of man he wanted to be or wanted anyone to think he was.

"Oh…" There had only been so many occasions on which Oswald had been left speechless in his life. This was most certainly one of them. "But you said… but I had to remind you of your favor, of your duty as a man of the law!" He shook his head in disbelief, while his fingers dug into the dark wood of the desk before him.

"Only because you misinterpreted my reaction. I did not want anyone to die, I wanted to limit the damage and keep all of you safe." A tiny voice in his head unhelpfully reminded him of not caring as much about Falcone's or Butch's lives personally, only out of moral and professional reasons. He had to admit to himself that he cared about Cobblepot's life though, but he managed to convince himself to refer it to sparing his life all these months ago. And to the mobster being genuinely friendly towards him all this time, whether he felt comfortable with it or not.

Slowly Oswald nodded and started tracing the rim of his tea cup with a few nervous fingers.

"You wanted to keep all of us safe. How noble." There was no sarcasm in his voice this time, but the words were empty, uttered only to fill the silence and to give him more time to think about a proper response.

Jim smiled for a brief moment, before fixing his gaze on the tea cup in front of him. He would have liked to explain his motivations in greater detail, but he could not make himself talk.

"Well, the way I see it, someone wanted to hurt or frighten me, the reason is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. But I'm having a target on my back after taking over. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I just don't think it's such a big surprise I got attacked in the first place."

Grateful for the change of topic, Jim's eyes went back to meet the other's and his expression softened a little.

"That's what Harvey said, too. I take it you would be fine with us dropping the case then?"

Oswald chuckled and raised his cup to drink the last remnants of his cooled down tea.

"By all means. Drop it."

"There is something else… Our forensic scientist has found some irregularities in your DNA sample. It probably means nothing, but I was wondering if you know something about it."

Now, with the last traces of the tea gone, Oswald felt awfully distracted again. Jim's scent was in some peculiar way more intense than that of the other people he encountered. Had it just been apparent while leaning in close the day before, it seemed to fill the entire room now. Something told him to drag the conversation on for as long as possible, he just did not want it to be gone again so soon.

"Huh? If I…. yes… ah, promise me to drop the case nevertheless, if I tell you."

"You know I can't…" But Jim was way too curious about what the criminal was about to tell him to start a discussion about his moral obligations. "Never mind… I'll drop it."

"Alright." Oswald wanted to add, I trust you, but since that was sadly no longer true, he decided against it. "The stranger most likely drugged me. I don't know with what kind of drug, but I can still feel the effects. I haven't been able to eat anything since, and to be frank, I feel addled and somewhat woozy. But that'll pass eventually." Or at least, he hoped it would.

"I see… I suppose, that explains it." Jim managed to look relieved and worried at the same time. "I guess if I tell Ed, he will demand a blood sample, he can be way too nosy. It's probably for the better if no one else knows."

"Ed? I'm afraid I am not too familiar with your colleagues."

"Edward Nygma, our forensic scientist. He could find out about what has been used on you. I don't like to condone unofficial examinations, but if things don't get better, he might be able to help." Why he offered the criminal help with his condition, he was not entirely sure. In any case, he blamed his bad conscience.

"I've met him. Odd fellow. But thank you, I appreciate the offer." He really did, had it not been for his apathy for needles and a particular dislike of the forensics guy, he might have agreed.

Jim smiled tightly and slowly got up from his chair.

"Call me if you change your mind."

"Don't –" Oswald held a hand out in front of him and starred at Jim in bewilderment. He did not have any idea at all what had gotten into him. Coughing a little and straightening his jacket, he sat back again, slightly embarrassed. "Nothing. Forget about it, have a nice evening, detective." He still could not bring himself to call him by his first name, despite the offer to help.

"Ah, you too, I guess." That Jim was confused by the other's sudden reaction, was putting it mildly. Before something else could hold him back, he left, looking more than a little irritated.

Although Oswald did not know why he had acted so haphazardly, he was perfectly aware of what caused the wish to keep Jim from leaving. Only a few traces of the enticing scent were left, making him wish for the detective to come back and stay.

* * *

Despite him trying to distract himself with work and tea, Oswald's condition kept deteriorating, until even behind closed doors, the smells were clouding his mind, causing the empty feeling in his stomach to grow even worse. The situation reached a boiling point when pain started to flare up in his belly. He rose from his chair, limped impatiently towards the door, and came to an abrupt halt when it opened in front of him.

"Sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but this gentleman insisted on seeing you." The waiter looked distressed and was quickly pushed away by a tall and brawny guy in a simple suit, who seemed rather impatient, though not initially aggressive.

"Mr. Cobblepot? My name is Carlo." The man did not appear particularly polite, which meant he was off to a bad start with Oswald.

Apparently he remembered the guy from his time with Maroni. They had never talked, but he belonged to one of the late Don's lower lieutenants. Unfortunately, none of his security personnel was currently in sight, so he cautiously invited the visitor in, but ordered the waiter to find Gabe and send him to his office. He just did not want his guests to overhear the conversation.

"What brings you here, Mr. Carlo?" Oswald closed the door, but did not offer the man a seat. He hoped the matter would be resolved soon, his concentration was basically nonexistent and his stomach kept feeling as if he had eaten a plate full of needles.

"I used to take care of the liquor deals for Don Maroni. Some of your deals are the reason most of mine blew." He explained with obviously suppressed rage. "I want compensation."

Oswald took a step back, he did not like the way the man talked at all. What he liked though, was his smell, strong and healthy and what the hell was he thinking?

"Compensation? For your inability to run a business? Hardly…" He did not have any patience left for this kind of nonsense.

Not surprisingly, Carlo did not take kindly to the smaller man's smugness. With a quick motion, he grabbed Oswald's collar and pulled him close.

"You think you run this city, but now what? You will give me generous compensation or I'll make sure you'll lose a few teeth before your babysitters arrive." To emphasize his words, he punched him in the stomach with full force. It knocked the air out of Oswald, but it did not hurt as much as he expected. In fact, the pain in his stomach did not get worse at all.

With a baffled expression, he looked up and tried to understand what had just happened. Carlo seemed to mistake his reaction for fear and laughed a little.

"Oh, the little penguin is scared?" He landed a second punch, this time Oswald did not even flinch.

Instead, he felt red rot anger flare up in his stomach, replacing the pain and leading him to lash out at the taller man himself. His fist connected with Carlo's jaw and sent him straight to the ground, blood spurting from his nose and mouth.

Oswald looked at his hands in disbelief. How did he do that? But before he could put any thoughts into the matter, he was hit by a sensation so powerful and all-encompassing that it left him tower over the other man as if in some sort of trance. The smell which had distracted him the entire day was now so strong that it made any coherent thought impossible. Swaying slightly, he breathed in deeply, savoring the scent until he bowed down to meet Carlo again face to face. This time he was the one to grab his collar. The man was dazed and simply looked back at him with an expression of astonishment and shock, blood still dripping from his lips.

Before he could think about what he was doing, Oswald ripped the man's collar open to reveal the soft skin underneath. Instinct took over and biting down into the exposed throat suddenly seemed the most natural thing to do. His teeth easily pierced through the tender flesh and he almost fainted when the blood touched his tongue for the first time. It was back, the liquid fire in his veins, filling him with life, stronger than any other sensation. The pain in his stomach slowly vanished and was replaced by a warm and wonderful feeling of pure bliss. He did not even feel Carlo struggle underneath him, and he would have kept drinking had it not been for the door opening again and Gabe stepping into the room.

"Holy mother of Christ…" Slowly closing the door behind him, he stared down at the two men, eyes wide with shock.

Oswald did not want to let go, but a little voice of reason ushered him to look up at his trusted henchman. When their eyes met, he saw Gabe flinch, which was odd enough on its own. But the man looked as if he had seen a ghost, he paled rapidly and shook his head, not wanting to believe his own eyes. Slowly, Oswald was coming to his senses. It took him a while to understand what had just happened. His gaze went back to Carlo, whose dead eyes were staring into nothingness, his neck and Torso soaked in blood, and his skin showing vicious bite marks.

The view should have horrified him, but it made him feel nothing but indifferent. Too exhilarating was the feeling that coursed through him. The pain and the thirst were gone. He could not remember when he had ever felt so strong and invigorated in his entire life. He got up on his feet, turned to face Gabriel and greeted him with a smile. That caused the henchman to take a few steps back until he hit the wall.

"Gabe? Are you okay? You don't look so well…"

"Boss… you… did you really…?"

It was only then when Oswald grasped the reality of the situation. Though he still felt exhilarated, he slowly began to realize what had just happened. He looked down at Carlo again, one hand touching his own lips which were still wet with the other man's blood.

"That's… impossible…" Shakily, he walked over to the chair in front of his desk and sat down.

"It just can't be… Gabe, tell me this is not happening…"

But the taller man just shook his head.

So it had not been a drug after all. His first explanation, as impossible as it appeared, had been correct. The stranger had in fact turned him into something else, something beyond his comprehension.


	4. Chapter 4

Gotham Library had always been amongst Oswald's favorite places.

Even before he had learned to read, his mother had taken him to the impressive Victorian building to pick books she could read to him. During his school years, he had visited the place as often as possible to walk through the dusty corridors and search old and new bookshelves for hidden treasures. Books had always been means for him to escape the harsh reality, but also to learn about a huge variety of topics and study all that he thought might come in handy someday.

Surprisingly much did come in handy eventually, when he started working for Fish a few years ago. Books about politics, history, war, but also finance, strategy and accounting had boosted his passive knowledge and led to him easily understanding how the nightclub business, but also the machinery of the mob, worked. His love for Shakespeare and ornithology never really payed off though, but he enjoyed reading books on these topics nevertheless.

However, since the fateful day Jim Gordon took him to the pier, he had not put a foot into this place. He had just never found the time to search for new interesting reads, let alone read them.

But it was not the prospect of new reading matter that brought him to the library once again, it was that this time, he desperately sought knowledge of a very special kind.

He was more than thankful that most of the sunlight was blocked out by the old windows. The majority of the buildings in Gotham relied on artificial light, since the weather was absolutely notorious. After searching the databases and catalogues for everything on the topic, he settled down at a small table in a sheltered corner of the renaissance history section which hardly anyone ever frequented.

To his subsequent delight, he had noticed that although he was still limping, his leg did not hurt anymore, regardless of how much he walked and how much weight he put on it. That and the fact that he was suddenly a lot stronger than he used to be, helped immensely with collecting and carrying all the books he wanted to skim through.

Sitting down, looking at the piling tomes and volumes, he was not sure where to start. After thinking about how to put a system into all the different books, he gave up and settled for just randomly picking one and writing down all that he thought to be relevant or interesting.

It took him until sunset to work through all of them. Fortunately, despite the intense sounds and smells, he did not feel distracted anymore, on the contrary, he felt focused and motivated for the task at hand. Whether that was out of curiosity or because he did not want to face the reality of his personal situation, was more or less irrelevant. He ended up with an array of lists and messy notes about vampires and similar creatures, which dealt with their possible strengths and weaknesses, and some interesting pseudoscience facts and historical information. A little frustrated, he concluded that it was on him to figure out which facts applied to his condition, having crossed out a great number in the process already. He had noticed for instance that sunlight caused awful headaches and he could just bet on an increased risk of sunburn, but it was far from lethal. A lot of other classic attributes seemed to apply however, such as the thirst for blood, the heightened senses, and unusual power and defense. Curious about the religious aspects, he even drew a cross on his notepad, touched it and was relieved to feel perfectly fine doing so.

When he finally left the library, his motivation had diminished, all he had accomplished was finding a few things he might want to look out for. But vague theories aside, he was no step further in knowing how to deal with his situation.

* * *

Butch and Gabe proved to be an immense help. Where the official explanation for his look and behavior were mild health problems, the trusted henchman was the only person Oswald trusted to know the truth about his current predicament. After the initial shook, he had dutifully disposed of Carlo's corpse and even tried to console his boss to his best efforts. To thank him, but also to make sure his loyalty did not waver, he had given the man another substantial pay raise, a strategy that worked perfectly in so many cases.

Butch on the other hand, he did not trust with the details, but gave him the order to run the club in his stead for a while, since he had business to take care of and there was simply not enough time at his dispense. The former evening, Butch had visited the Moonshine Club and talked with the manager of the establishment.

"He seemed like an okay guy. We did not come to an agreement, but that was mostly because he wanted to speak to you in person."

Perfectly relaxed, Butch downed his whiskey and studied his employer for a long moment.

"You look better. I'm glad to see you back to your old self again."

"I do?" Oswald had not payed much attention to his appearance since the time he had noticed his fangs in the mirror.

It was not out of disinterest. In a way, he was a little worried about the sight that might greet him.

"Well, I most certainly feel a lot better."

* * *

Eventually, he concluded that it was time he took a proper look at himself. Standing in front of the mirror of his private restroom, he examined his reflection thoroughly. He did look surprisingly healthy, his cheeks were rosy, even though he was even paler than he had been before his transformation. But the pallor suited him well, instead of looking sickly and sleep-deprived, he looked strong and virile. In general, he had to admit that he felt more handsome than before, although he had slight difficulties explaining why that was. It were two details which caught his attention in the end, his eyes seemed to look more intense than those of any normal person, his teeth were just as pointy as the first time he noticed. To his surprise, he could affect their length a little, they grew a few millimeters when he intended them to, most certainly a feature that was quite useful when biting a potential victim.

After a few minutes of contemplation, he sighed and splashed some cold water onto his face. He could still not believe he was actually considering this was his new reality. The supernatural did not exist in his opinion. If anything, he liked the idea of a life after death or of some higher powers, but that was about it. Neither was he particularly superstitious, despite growing up with a mother who did not even dare to walk under ladders. And there he was now, forced to acknowledge its existence and to get used to it staring him straight in the eyes, each time he passed a mirror. Nevertheless, he was relieved to still have a reflection.

Things could be worse, sunlight, crosses, mirror, coffins, and so many more clichés so very common in vampire stories, he hardly had to worry about.

And yet, it was more than difficult for him to accept the situation. It was not so much his current state that bothered him, but the memory of the attack two nights ago. He could scarcely remember feeling as scared and helpless as in that situation. Witnessing his own demise and miraculously waking up afterwards had left a mark, maybe even some sort of trauma. With slightly trembling hands, he felt his own pulse. Until this moment, he had pushed the thought away of being somehow undead. When he could not feel it, he almost went into shock. He slumped to the floor and tried to calm himself.

Again and again he tried to feel if his heart was still beating. It came as a surprise as he suddenly felt a weak throb. Staying very still, he waited. Another faint beat. It was so weak and slow that it could not belong to any living human, but he could feel it. Despite his relief, he was trembling faintly. So he had a heartbeat, he breathed, but had the stranger not said that he was dying? Maybe, his heartbeat was only a result of his desperate wish to still be amongst the living. He could make his teeth grow by simply thinking about it, after all. Agonizing over his predicament did not help much to cope with it, though. He felt like just curling up, hoping that he would eventually wake up and realize it was all just a dream.

* * *

Sooner or later, Oswald came to the conclusion that the only way he could possibly deal with the problem was to gather knowledge about it until he could properly judge what measures he may take to turn it into his favor. As much as he hated feeling powerless concerning his transformation and apparent nature, he slowly began to realize that it held intriguing opportunities on the other hand.

The first step he took was to get back at the offer Jim had made him the prior evening. He preferred to think about it as a mere business call, he needed his former friend to establish a connection to the forensic scientist – that was all. His nervousness while waiting for the detective to pick up the phone, unfortunately proved otherwise.

When he finally heard Jim's voice, he took a deep breath to calm himself.

"Jim? You might remember offering me help yesterday? I've decided to let Nygma examine my blood. Just to make sure there will be no lasting effects…" After stating the matter, he noticed that he had used the detective's first name again, most likely out of lack of focus, he told himself.

"Sure, can you come to the precinct? It would facilitate the process, you know."

Jim's voice sounded a little gruff, but then again, it did most of the time.

"Ah… yes, I could…" Slightly irritated, he felt his heartbeat getting a bit stronger. So anxiousness still affected its pace, which was in an odd way reassuring.

"Good. My shift is over in an hour and Edward always stays a little longer anyways. Come over when you're ready."

With that, Jim hung up and left Oswald to stare at his phone, frowning. Did he have to be so rude?

* * *

Even though, Oswald was dreading the visit at the precinct, he entered the building about an hour after the phone call. Happy to see that Bullock had already left, he limped through the almost deserted bullpen over to Jim's desk.

"Good evening, detective. I'm surprised you didn't have any objections to me coming in here."

Sure he had not forgotten about telling Oswald to not visit him at his workplace again.

"Evening." Jim smiled tightly and rose from his chair. "Not if I tell you to. Besides, it was rush hour last time. Too many colleagues watching."

The smaller man nodded pensively and suddenly noticed that Jim was sizing him up with a surprised expression.

"You must have had a good night's sleep."

"What? Oh, because I don't look as ghastly as yesterday. Yes, the effects have mostly worn off by now. But I am still worried, that's why I came here, in case you're wondering."

He inclined his head defensively.

"I know you told me to ask for your help if things didn't get better, but… you know, forget about it, I should probably go."

With a sigh, he turned, but Jim put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Wait. I'm glad you feel better now."

The tone in the detective's voice softened a little.

"I wasn't telling you to leave."

"You… oh." Oswald felt rather stupid, his ears getting hot out of embarrassment.

Maybe, he really was trying to be nice. Coming to think of it, he had been when they met the former evening. Perhaps, he had accused him wrongly of acting hostile.

"The offer still stands. Do you want the blood test?"

"Yes, I would appreciate it." Although he still felt slightly embarrassed, Jim being friendly was a welcome change.

As he calmed down, he noticed the other man's scent again. Now that he looked at these matters from a different angle, he was wondering why the detective smelled different to him than anyone else he had met since being turned. It did not distract him as much as before, but it still put him under a sort of spell. Taking a deep breath, he smiled gratefully.

* * *

Oswald sat down on a metal chair in the chilly forensics lab. Edward Nygma was apparently very happy to see him again and to help him solve this little mystery. While he took the blood sample, Oswald starred at Jim's feet and tried to distract himself from the needle in his arm. He had never had problem seeing blood, not even his own, God knew he was used to it. It just made him feel dizzy seeing the red liquid being drawn out by the syringe. The irony of a vampire having trouble with seeing blood in any circumstance made him smile, though.

"I thought you didn't like needles?"

Jim, who was leaning against the counter opposite of him, eyed him curiously. On the way to the lab Oswald had mentioned that he despised injections.

"Oh… I don't. I just had to think of something, never mind."

A moment later, Nygma removed the needle and tourniquet, and pressed a cotton swab to the little break in his skin.

"Hold it, your shirt looks expensive, I don't want you to get upset about having bloodstains on it."

The comment made Oswald laugh unintentionally. He had lost count of how many times blood had stained one of his white dress shirts. His reaction caused Jim to cough slightly, he probably had a hunch of why the criminal was laughing and he felt more than uncomfortable due to the implications.

Nygma barely seemed to notice, he was way too excited about the prospect of examining the sample.

"How long will it take until you'll have the results?" Oswald was certainly not the most patient person after all that had happened.

"At least until breakfast, maybe a little longer. I'm running all the standard test, but I can't be sure if they'll grant sufficient answers."

Oswald chewed at his lip, he felt a little worried about how they might turn out. What if they were so unusual that he had to offer Nygma a better explanation than drugs? He had not really thought this thing through.

"Detective, would you lend me a hand?" The forensic scientist gestured towards a little box with plasters.

Jim complied and took one out of the box. Dutifully, he bowed down and gently pushed Oswald's hand that was holding the cotton swab aside. He stopped, apparently startled and blinked.

"What's wrong?"

"Where did the needle go in again?" Jim stroked the place where the needle had broken the skin a few minutes ago.

There was no trace of it having been there, apart from a tiny smear of dried blood.

"I… I don't know…" Oswald swallowed hard.

He should have thought about the possibility of accelerated healing, especially after taking Carlo's punches and reading about various vampires in literature.

"Huh… that's odd…" Jim carefully traced his pale blue vein, but did not come to a conclusion.

His fingers sent a faint tickling sensation through Oswald's body. There had been a few occasions on which Jim had been this close, but never had he been gentle or worried for him, let alone calm. Without thinking, he lay his hand on Jim's and patted it softly.

"It's nothing, really. Mr. Nygma is probably just very good with needles."

He smiled mildly while hoping the puzzled frown that decorated the detective's face would disappear.

"Ah, yes. He must be, I guess." Jim cleared his throat and slowly drew back his hand. He did not seem unsettled by the gesture, just slightly confused.

When he took back his hand, Oswald felt that urge again to hold him back.

It was hard to grasp, but he was slowly getting an idea of how to interpret his reactions. Not that it came as a surprise, but he had been positive to have left these feelings behind a few months ago, when it became more than obvious that Jim had no intentions of reciprocating the friendship, let alone anything that went beyond it. Averting his eyes, he closed them for a moment. It seemed he had underestimated the attraction he felt for the man, had he not been convinced of being in control of himself. He knew that having false hope never bode well.

Maybe, it was because of his vulnerable state that the feelings he had suppressed so successfully were slowly coming back, maybe it was due to the many new sensations he felt at his current state. In any case, it was deeply unsettling.

He suddenly got up, pulled his sleeve down and hastily put on his jacket.

"Detective, Mr. Nygma. Thank you for your help, please call me when you get the results."

His voice sounded pressed and he was trembling slightly.

Not daring to meet Jim's eyes, he left the laboratory in a rush.

Outside of the building, he slowed down on the vast steps and was happy to feel the cool evening air greet him and calm his nerves. At the base of the building, he stopped and looked back. To his surprise, he noticed that Jim was standing at the entrance, watching him apprehensively.


	5. Chapter 5

When Jim entered the precinct half an hour before his shift, he found Edward sleeping in the forensics laboratory, head resting on the scrawly notes that littered his desk. Carefully, he approached his colleague and gently put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey there, good morning." Although he found the situation rather amusing, he certainly did not wish for Edward to do that much overtime work on account of the help he offered to someone the forensic scientist hardly knew.

Slowly, Edward blinked before he suddenly jerked up and looked at Jim with a dumbfounded expression.  
"Detective!" It took him some time to gather himself.

"You know, I did not expect you to spend your night here for the blood test I requested…"

"No, I know. I mean, I had the test done quickly, but then things got way too intriguing to waste time on sleep."  
Apparently, the man was serious. He even smiled wearily and reached for the notes in front of him.

"Intriguing how?" Jim could not tell whether that was good or bad news. It was not beyond Nygma to call the weirdest findings intriguing.

"Oh, for so many reasons. I've never seen anything quite like it. First I ran the standard drug tests, which proved negative. Apart from traces of alcohol. But I noticed that the blood behaved… oddly."

The reply caused Jim to frown. He would have preferred a simple and quick answer.  
"Oddly how? Please make it short, my breakfast is waiting."

"Right. Okay. Here's the thing. The blood cells are abnormally volatile. I couldn't find traces of anything that doesn't belong to his regular blood, but it simply acted differently… which should be impossible. Absolutely impossible. His blood has restorative abilities, I noticed accidentally. But I ran a lot of tests. Unorthodox tests, I guess, but the results speak for themselves." Edward was obviously highly excited to share the outcomes.

"Restorative how?"  
The question caused the taller man to huff a little, as excited as he was, he seemed to be annoyed by Jim's taciturnity.

"It restores damaged cells at a rapid pace. In other words, Mr. Cobblepot would heal impossibly quickly, himself and others. Imagine someone stabbed him, say, in his abdomen, he would be back to his old self in less than half an hour. Fully healed, without any lasting damage."

The explanation left Jim staring at the scientist aghast. His right hand found purchase on the desk and he shook his head slowly.  
"Please don't wind me up. It's not funny."

"I don't. Honestly." But even Edward seemed to understand why the information was very hard to believe.

"Oh, and it assimilates other blood cells. It, well, digests them in a way. I put drops of other blood into the Petri dish and they vanished, but Mr. Cobblepot's blood increased in quantity."  
He took the chair on which Oswald had sat the prior evening and pushed it into Jim's direction.  
"Maybe you should sit. You look a little pale."

Jim sat down slowly and tried his best to comprehend what the other had just told him.  
"You are really not putting me on? Do you have any idea what could have happened to him to cause his blood to react this way?"

"No, detective, I have no idea." Jerkily, Nygma shook his head and smiled excitedly. "But isn't it fascinating?"

"What? Oh, yes." Jim cleared his throat, desperately trying to regain his composure.  
"Please don't tell anyone about this. It's vital, don't tell a soul, not even Harvey, Essen or Lee, understood?"

A little confused, his colleague shook his head again.  
"I won't, don't worry. I can imagine that it might complicate things."

"Thank you." Taking a deep breath, Jim got up and smiled to his best effort before leaving the enthusiastic scientist to his work.

* * *

The rest of the day, Jim had trouble concentrating on his work.  
Luckily, he could convince Harvey that he was only a little tired, it wouldn't be the first time he had trouble sleeping. In fact, he had indeed not slept too well the night. His thoughts had gone back to the conversations with Oswald and the man's abrupt exit. There was nothing he could come up with that served as a sufficient explanation, but the idea that the criminal might still feel uncomfortable due to their recent differences, even though those were more or less settled by now. It did neither explain why he suddenly fled the building, nor did it help with figuring out why his blood was acting strange.

Right after the end of his shift, he headed to Oswald's club. He did not dare to call and tell him the results, it was something he had to do in person. Besides, he hoped faintly for a logical explanation.  
Fortunately, it was still some time before the club opened. When Oswald greeted him at the bar, he looked much happier to see him than the other days, although he was obviously a little anxious to hear the results.

"I need to talk to you in private."

"Never the one to beat around the bush, hm?"  
Oswald seemed amused, but Jim noticed that his hand that was holding a glass of wine was slightly trembling.  
"Leave us."  
His staff and Gabriel, who had let Jim in a few minutes before, vanished and left the two men alone at the bar.  
Shakily, Oswald busied himself with pouring the other a glass of the expensive looking vintage.

"You look nervous. Don't worry, you're healthy as far as I can tell. No traces of an unknown drug or indications of a disease."  
He did not touch the wine, yet. Instead he took a deep breath and met his opposite's eyes.

"However, that is unfortunately why the results were unsettling."

"Unsettling? Enlighten me, please." Oswald's expression was surprised and a little worried.  
Sure, he wanted to know as much as possible about his condition, the problem was that it meant that consequently, Jim and Nygma knew way more by now than they were supposed to.

"I'll try to be brief." Taking another deep breath, Jim relented and drank some of the wine, which was even better than he had anticipated. He pushed the thought away of how much a bottle of the drink might cost.  
"Your blood behaves strangely and is a little volatile. But that shouldn't concern you much if you feel alright, I guess. Other than that it has restorative abilities. You could heal yourself or others impossibly fast. And for some reason, if you mix other blood with yours, it gets consumed. You have to ask Edward for the details, in case you're interested."  
Glad to be over with it, he drank some more wine and put the glass down to watch Oswald's reaction.

The criminal looked at him, seemingly in disbelief. Unfortunately, he did believe what Jim was telling him. And in a way it was good news. He knew what he was, after all, and having those abilities sounded convenient. It was just that the detective was now quite keen on finding answers.  
"Oh… well… that doesn't sound too bad?" Oswald smiled nervously.

"No, it doesn't. But it shouldn't be possible. Do you have any idea what might have caused the change? You see, about a year ago, a drug called Viper was in circulation. Everyone who took it possessed superhuman strength and resilience, but it quickly destroyed their bodies and they died. Something similar must have happened to you, just without the lethal side effects. Or with a much longer time span until they kick in."

At that, Oswald blinked and shook his head.  
"But you said, you did not find traces of any unknown drug."

"We didn't. So yes, it's probably different, but I don't have another logical explanation."  
Feeling a little uncomfortable because of his grim theory, he averted his eyes and studied the array of colorful bottles behind the bar.

"Well, I feel fine and I don't think a drug like that would be hard to trace."  
He could have just left Jim believing in his theory. It would have been convenient. But somehow, Oswald could not let him leave, thinking he would soon suffer such an awful fate.

"Then what's your theory?" He looked terribly confused and at a loss. It surprised him how relieved he felt at Oswald shutting down his theory.  
So he met his gaze again and studied the other's expression. He could not shake the feeling that something about the criminal was different. Sure, he seemed more confident, the new position suited him, but it was more than just a better posture. His eyes had changed, in some way, it was hard for him to not break contact. But on the other hand, he could not takes his eyes off of them. When he noticed that he had missed Oswald's explanation, he felt deeply unsettled. He rarely ever got lost in anyone's eyes. Not even Barbara's or Lee's, which was an odd comparison to begin with.

"Jim? Are you listening?"

The sound of his name woke him up and he cleared his throat, trying to cover his odd behavior.  
"I'm sorry, can you repeat what you said?"

At that, Oswald chuckled and smiled a little nervously.  
"Right, but listen this time. I don't really have a theory, to be honest. It might be a drug, it might also be that Mr. Nygma misinterpreted his findings. In any case, I thank you for helping me. But as long as I feel fine, I don't think there is need for further investigations."

This time, Jim understood, although he still felt oddly distracted. It was as if the other's presence was somehow enveloping him. He decided, he had to get away as soon as possible.  
"Just one thing. What made you leave so suddenly yesterday?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. I just felt uncomfortable in the environment. Needles, autopsy tables, the bullpen… it's not my favorite place, you know?"  
Again, Oswald smiled seemingly at ease. To Jim's surprise, he took his hand and squeezed gently.  
"Thank you for taking the time. And for telling me the truth about your actions back in the hospital."

It took Jim a while to respond. He should have been happy with the criminal being cool and distant, but unfortunately, he felt much better knowing that he saw him as a friend again.  
"Glad I could help. I need to get going, early shift tomorrow."  
With that, he rose from the bar stool and smiled, tightly but friendly.

"Nothing is keeping you here, detective."  
This time, the title was used with a small wink.  
It lifted Jim's spirits and he left with a feeling of accomplishment, although it bugged him that he did not get to the bottom of the case, yet. Oswald's words kept him wondering, though. It had felt as if there actually was something keeping him there, he just could not tell what it as. At least, he could look forward to spend the night with Lee, hoping that it would distract him from the odd case and the peculiar criminal he might consider calling a friend, even though he had no clue why he might consider doing so now, after all this time.

* * *

Even after Jim was gone, Oswald could not take his mind off of the odd encounter.  
He studied his wine pensively, slowly spinning the glass without taking a sip.  
The prospect of accelerated healing surely was intriguing, but his thoughts trailed off to much more interesting, but frankly disconcerting matters. Why had Jim been so distracted? Usually, he would have attributed it to some case he was currently involved with, but the detective had stared him straight in the eyes, without giving him the impression of looking through him or otherwise being absent. It only added to his confusion that Jim did not pull his hand away. On Oswald's side it had been a playful experiment.  
After reminiscing for a while, he had sort of come to terms with his feelings for him, at least to a certain extent. It was easy to remember what he had felt before and to admit to himself that he had only suppressed those emotions. Eventually, he had conveniently locked the thought away in his memory, acknowledging something so simple as attraction and allure, thus hoping he could focus again on more pressing matters. He had been successful with a similar tactic months ago, after all.

A number of questions bothered him to a greater extent, for instance who the person was who had turned him and why. Apart from that, he was wondering if there were others in Gotham. He could not even tell for sure if he would be able to tell the difference, but he had a hunch they would at least smell unlike humans.

* * *

Just before opening, Gabe approached him to ask if he was alright. It seemed as if Oswald had sat in the same spot for almost an hour, barely moving.  
The henchman had a hard time adjusting to his boss' new condition, and it was apparent that he felt uncomfortable. But he stayed with him, repeatedly asking if he was okay and if he could help with something. He had even offered to find him food, which Oswald had declined with thanks. Hopefully, he could tell when he had to feed again before it went too far.

The circumstances did not, however, cause him to forget about his business obligations. As much as he disliked the thought of paying the Moonshine Club a visit, he preferred to settle the matter as soon as possible. In advance, he thought about whom to bring, too many men would be overstated and might make him look scared. He had to choose carefully and eventually ended up with Butch who had the advantage of already being familiar with the establishment, and Victor Zsasz who was more than capable of serving as an effective silent threat. Of course, if things got out of hand, he was also the most competent person at his service to keep him safe.

It was shortly before midnight when the hitman entered Oswald's office.

"Good evening. You're a little late." Slightly annoyed, he looked up from his desk and froze. The man looked just as eerie as ever.  
But his smell caused Oswald to almost choke on his own saliva when he tried to clear his throat in an attempt to mask his look of surprise.

He was not the only one whose eyes widened in shock. Zsasz came to a halt in front of the broad desk and stared at his employer unblinking.  
"How did that happen?" The dark eyes bore into Oswald's, who clutched the armrests of his antique chair.

It was impossible to tell what Zsasz smelled like, it was very subtle, much more subtle than any human's scent. Faintly, it reminded him of the night air and something remotely earthy. Even though he had a hard time processing the impression, he knew exactly why the assassin smelled so peculiar.

"I got ambushed a few nights ago. I have no idea who the person was and why he did this to me."  
His voice was calm and sounded strangely distant to his own ears.  
"I did not know you were… forgive me if this is not the correct term… a vampire."

Slowly, Victor's gaze softened and he sat down in the chair in front of his boss.  
"Don't worry, that's indeed the most common term." He chuckled unsettlingly.

Oswald's grip loosened and the leaned back, trying to calm himself. Chances were that the revelation was in fact in favor of him, though it still agitated him for various reasons. So a vampire had worked for him, for Falcone, all this time? That was certainly interesting news.  
"I take it you're not new to the business?"

The comment caused Zsasz to laugh.  
"Business? You're funny. But no, I'm not. I've been like this for, well, for quite some time now."

"Don't tell me you're an acquaintance to the founding fathers or that you've served in the civil war." Oswald inquired sardonically.

"Do I look that old? Well, I might be, since I stopped aging with about thirty, but no. I'm from this century, in case you're wondering." The assassin just laughed again. He obviously found the situation amusing.

"Right… so we don't age." Slowly, it dawned him that he could now ask all those questions he was desperately seeking to find answers to. As odd as the situation was, he suddenly felt relieved and excited.  
"Say, you wouldn't mind elucidating this subject?"

Almost gracefully, Victor put his hands on the wooden desk before him, smoothly leaned forward and smiled, showing his now elongated fangs.  
"It would be my pleasure."


	6. Chapter 6

The conversation with Victor had delayed their visit to the Moonshine Club considerably.  
Despite the change of schedule, Oswald did not regret spending a single minute on questioning the hitman about everything he could think of at that time. It turned out, he had already figured out most of the important facts about their nature. A few interesting details Victor added, though. Apart from abilities Oswald had not yet discovered, such as superior night vision or accelerated speed and agility, he mentioned that it was possible to manipulate humans quite easily, up to the point of hypnotizing or brainwashing them, which was why he had done such splendid work on Butch.  
However, after a while, Oswald had started to get the impression that he was withholding some information. He could not pinpoint why or which information it was, but it left him wondering.

* * *

The Moonshine Club was just as busy as Oswald's, though the overall atmosphere and vibe could have hardly been more different.  
They entered the Club through an entrance that resembled an old barber shop, most likely in a nod to the underground establishments and speakeasies from the times of the prohibition. As they entered the great hall, they came to a halt on top of a flight of wide stairs and perceived the scenery which spread before them in awe. The vast room was richly decorated in golden art deco ornaments with huge sparkling chandeliers hanging from the adorned ceiling. Through the swirling vapor of a few dozen cigars the dim light was reflected by the lavish décor, bathing the hall in a warm golden light. A jazz band was playing on an elevated stage, costumes bright but tasteful; dancers, scantily clad in silver and pearl burlesque dresses swaying their nimble bodies to the music.  
As much as he hated to admit it, Oswald had to compliment whoever was in charge of the design.

"Why didn't you tell me about… well, this?" He met Butch's uncertain look with a pronounced frown.

"I thought the news would upset you. And it wouldn't have changed anything, right boss?" The brawny man was trembling considerably.  
He always looked nervous in Zsasz' company, but having him standing right next to him, grinning, and Oswald being obviously unhappy was understandably nerve-racking for him.

"That hardly excuses keeping important details from me."  
The fact that he in some way liked the interior conflicted with the displeasure of thinking about a club like this rivaling his. Gilzean therefore served as a very welcome scapegoat.  
"Now pull yourself together and introduce me to the godforsaken miscreant who unfortunately runs this joint."  
Rolling his eyes, Oswald sighed exaggeratedly.

"That would be me, I'm afraid."  
A tall, middle-aged man had appeared next to them, smiling mildly amused. With a nod, he held out his hand.  
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cobblepot."

Oswald's eyes grew wide and his ears flushed out of embarrassment. Reluctantly, he shook the man's hand and returned the smile.  
"I apologize for my outburst, I let my anger spill over to matters that clearly don't deserve to be insulted like this."  
He studied the man in front of him curiously. His appearance was flawless, with an expensively tailored suit and impeccably groomed brown hair. The lines around his eyes revealed that he smiled often, contrasting the cold and calculating look in his dark eyes.

"Oh, don't worry, everyone has a bad day once in a while."  
The words seemed honest, although his eyes betrayed that he was less than impressed.  
"I didn't introduce myself properly. Pasquale 'Junior' Galante."

"A pleasure to meet you, too." Oswald was almost amused by how closely his own wry smile must resemble that of his new acquaintance.

"I am the proprietor of this humble establishment. Well, working proprietor, but my superior rarely sets a foot in here."  
With an elegant gesture, he beckoned the men to follow him to a remote table.  
"Highballs?" He asked as they took seats, Butch and Victor occupying the space on either side of Oswald's chair.

"Sure." It was hard work for him to not frown too obviously. If the man started to address him as 'old sport', to top it all, he would order Victor to shoot him point-blank. Or maybe tear out his throat with his own teeth, since that was a viable option these days.

After the obligatory exchange of niceties, their drinks were served and Oswald's mood slowly changed for the better. At least gin tonic was a reasonable choice. He did not mind a little camp in general. But unfortunately, he only found it acceptable if it was of his own creation.

"I understand, the territory my establishment is located in belongs to you. I suspect this is why you are gracing us with your presence."  
Apparently as calm as a clock, Galante sipped at his drink.

Oswald had to close his eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. The man's demeanor annoyed him to an extent he could hardly put into words.  
"Yes. It is."  
His nostrils flared as he put his hand around the long drink glass.  
"Just like every other territory in this city."

Galante just raised his eyebrows in slight surprise.

"I am willing to cut you some slack, you are obviously new to this environment and sorely lack information."  
Inwardly, he was already wondering how best to dispose of the nuisance that sat in front of him.  
"You are hopefully aware now that you have to pay interest for running this club? In exchange, I let you do as you see fit and hold off possible outward threats."

Slowly, Galante put down his glass and nodded. The overbearing smile did not waver, though.  
"My employer mentioned to take care of the local mob bosses, so yes, I am aware of it and agree to it."

The reply both surprised and vexed Oswald considerably.  
"Fine. Then tell me, why did you not come to me to discuss terms?"  
He did not bother to smile anymore. For the first time since their introduction, Galante looked a little uneasy.

"My employer told me to wait for you to pay us a visit."

"Can you believe it?" Huffing, Oswald glanced at Victor, before directing his gaze back to the proprietor.  
"Your boss has some nerve. Did he really think he could get around paying by simply waiting until I notice your establishment? You know, you have to make amends, right?"

Galante nodded once more, his eyes darting from Oswald to Zsasz and back.  
"That can be arranged. I will consult my employer and get in contact with you as soon as we have an agreement."  
The peculiar friendliness was back, no trace left of the uneasiness the man apparently felt just a moment before.

"Very well."  
Oswald smiled just as friendly, rose from his chair and took a few steps before turning around and slamming his hand on the table in front of Galante, who nearly jumped out of his chair.  
"The only person you have to come to an agreement with is me. Is that clear?"

His voice was deadly calm, any trace of friendliness gone. As he snarled, the man flinched and nodded enthusiastically.  
"Yes, sir. Crystal."

Pleased with himself, Oswald straightened his jacket and his expression softened once more.  
"Great. Don't make me visit you again."  
He smiled smugly and made his exit with Butch and Zsasz in tow.

* * *

When they stepped on the gloomy street, Victor turned to face his boss, his expression slightly troubled.

"What is it?"

"You didn't notice anything weird in there?"

Oswald frowned and shook his head.  
"Nothing apart from his sudden compliance. He hardly knew me or my reputation. I wonder why he was so scared just because I threatened him mildly."

"That's probably because of, you know."  
He gestured at Oswald's mouth. As much as Butch pretended not to listen to the two, Victor preferred to be cautious.

"Oh, you think?"  
A little irritated, Oswald tried to recall the scene. When he had bared his teeth, they might have indeed looked threatening.  
"But no person in their right mind believes in-"

"Right. Unless, the person knows more than the average man. I could smell it on him. Others. He knew what you were then and got scared."

"You mean, he came in contact with…?" Butch's presence was certainly not facilitating their conversation.

"Yes. And there were others in the club. Their scent was faint, so someone as inexperienced as you couldn't notice."  
Victor's level voice had dropped by a few degrees so Gilzean could not hear.

"That's interesting."  
In any other case, Oswald would have been peeved by someone calling him inexperienced. But he knew the hitman had every right to. In fact, to him the club had smelled like smoke and booze mixed with the pleasant and frankly appetizing smell of the guests and staff. To think that other vampires might have been in their presence made him nervous. He did not feel ready to meet any other than Victor, yet. After all, he wanted to present himself as a man of power, which included being in control of his new way of life.

* * *

"You look like crap." Harvey Bullock was slouching in his office chair, feet on the table, newspaper in his hands.

"Thanks, Harv. Just what I need after last night."  
Jim put down his coffee and took a seat, before giving his partner an exasperated look.

"What, did the Doc not take care of her patient?"  
Grinning, Harvey folded the newspaper and adjusted his position.

"Harvey… and yes, she did." With a sigh, Jim massaged the bridge of his nose. He was in no mood for the older detective's ribaldry.

"Then why are you looking so sour? Trouble performing, boy scout?"

Trying to take a sip of his coffee, Jim almost burned his tongue and sighed.  
"That's not it…"

"What is it then? I doubt the fault is with her, unless your expectations suddenly rose significantly."  
In contrast to his younger partner, Harvey was obviously enjoying the conversation.

"Could we please change the subject?"  
Had it been any other reason to feel uncomfortable, he would have discussed it with him.  
He rarely agreed to Harvey's advice, it just sometimes helped to talk to somebody. To his chagrin, he could not by any means explain to him what had ruined the evening. Lee had been as sweet and caring as ever. While he was brooding, she tried her best to cheer him up. They eventually had ended up in bed, but even then, Jim could not take his mind off of the conversation with his sort of friend. He needed to know what had caused his strange condition, the detective in him demanded rational answers. The mystery was laying heavily on him, especially since he could not come up with a theory or an approach to how to solve it. But in some way, he was also worried for the criminal, having seen what a drug like viper did to people. Why he cared so much about the man's wellbeing, he had no idea. Then again, he had saved his life more than once and Penguin had returned the favor by saving his life in the warehouse, not too long ago. The explanation did not put him at ease though. Getting lost in his eyes and the strange feeling he had had in the other's presence made him feel slightly out of his depth. He hoped the impression would fade soon, but he could not shake the feeling that by seeking answers, he might get himself lost even deeper in the peculiar situation.

"Suit yourself." His partner's voice made him blink and nod a little confused.

"Thanks… what's up today?"

"Just a couple of homicides and a robbery." As sad as it was that they could joke about such topics, it made their job a little more bearable.

"Did they assign something to us?" Secretly, Jim hoped for an interesting case that would distract him sufficiently.

"Yeah, the vic had his throat cut. Looks like a low life mugging, if you ask me." Harvey pushed the thin folder over to Jim's desk.

And there his hope for an interesting case went, as he skimmed through the pages, dangerously close to getting lost in thought again.

* * *

While approaching the crime scene, Jim had a hunch that his luck was fortunately turning. The victim, an unremarkable middle-aged male, had been found in an alley behind a nightclub. Nothing exceptional, but since the cause of death had been severe blood loss, the lack of said liquid in close proximity of the corpse, made for an interesting turn.

"Moonshine Club? Doesn't ring a bell." Hands on his hips, he looked at the back entrance of the establishment, just a short distance from where they were standing.

"That's because they've just opened it one or two weeks ago. I've heard it's not too bad, no seedy mob joint. At least not the regular kind. I guess in Gotham every club is a mob joint somehow." Harvey bit into his donut, leaving a few crumps to fall onto the victims shoes. He did not seem to mind or even notice.

Frowning, Jim nudged his partner to take a few steps away from the corpse.  
"It's close to Penguin's club, do you know if they are related?"

"Nope, no idea. But I don't think that's important for the case, anyhow." With a satisfied smile, he finished his donut and brushed the remaining crumps off his beard.

"Probably not…" It troubled Jim that his thoughts were yet again traveling in a direction he would rather avoid.

"The uniforms have talked to the proprietor, but he didn't know anything about it. Surprise, huh?"

But Jim only nodded and crouched down to take a closer look. The victim's wounds looked peculiar, the cuts were slightly frayed on the edges, as if someone had caused the injury with a different tool and used a knife later to hide the traces of the original murder weapon. After examining the area around the corpse, he came to the conclusion that it was unlikely someone had dragged the man here after killing him. So either he was planted in the alley with care and for a specific purpose, or the killer had disposed of the victim's blood. If it had not been Gotham, Jim would have thought about someone wanting to hurt the Moonshine Club's image, but since murders near nightclubs happened in Gotham with an alarming regularity, he dismissed the option. It all made very little sense.

"Looks like we have to wait for the forensics to do their thing."  
Harvey just shrugged and trailed off. It seemed, the call of a second lunch break was too tempting to be ignored.

* * *

Despite his better judgement, Jim had ended up at the doorstep of Oswald's.  
He tried to convince himself of just being in search for information on his current case, but did not entirely succeed. Maybe, it was that his thoughts were constantly ending up here, so his feet just followed their lead. Or maybe he was still worried for Penguin. In any case, he did not like the implications.  
However, before he could change his mind, the door in front of him was opened and he looked into the surprised face of Butch Gilzean. The brawny man laughed a little and smiled.

"Hello detective! Long time no see."  
With a genuinely friendly expression, he ushered Jim in, before he could object. Instead of leading him to Cobblepot's office, however, they ended up in a little corridor close to the entrance. If it had not been for Butch's suddenly anxious appearance, Jim would have been alarmed. But somehow, he was positive that the man was no imminent danger to him.

"What's the matter?"

"Look, please don't tell anyone about it. Hell, I don't even know why I'm telling you this." Butch's voice was hushed, his eyes darting nervously from Jim down the corridor. "But you've seen him. He looks so strange lately. Sick somehow. Scary."

Jim cleared his throat and tried to capture Butch's jittery gaze.  
"Hey, easy. Just calm down for a minute. Why are you telling me this? I know he got mugged, and that he is feeling sick ever since. No news so far. I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, but I don't think I can help."  
The conversation made him feel queasy, he knew that since the man had started working for Penguin, he had been acting weird. And he certainly did not feel compelled to dig up the answer to why that was.

"Oh God, I should not tell you, I really shouldn't. He'll hurt me."  
Butch's gaze was turning even more restless and his head was beginning to jerk slightly. With a sigh, Jim put a hand on his shoulder shook him gently.

"Who is going to hurt you and why? Penguin?"

"No… maybe, but. Zsasz."  
Like a boy who could not stop himself from betraying a secret, he covered his mouth with his hands.

"I see. And I'm sorry, I can imagine it's bad having that guy around, but why are you telling me this now?" Jim's look was pleading. It was no surprise that the assassin was now working for Penguin, and neither was that he used him as a threat. It did not explain, however, why Gilzean was telling him of all people.

"I… no, I shouldn't. But… Okay, I've seen Gabe dispose of a body two nights ago. The throat was torn, like by an animal."  
Butch was breathing heavily, his eyes alarmed.  
"Before, the boss had looked awful, but yesterday he was fresh as a daisy all of sudden."

"Right, I suppose you are not actually reporting a crime here…" Jim raised his eyebrows, technically he had to follow the hint, but since no one had been reported missing and the body would certainly be gone by that time, he had to begrudgingly let mob business be mob business. And yet it slowly dawned him that the fact that someone had been killed inside this building was not what Butch had been aiming at.  
"You are telling me that someone has been murdered in here, and that is related to Cobblepot's recovery?"  
He could not come up with a more careful description.

"Ah… yes. And there was almost no blood on the carpet."

"Wait, what carpet?" The more Gilzean was telling him, the more it confused him.

"In the boss' office, of course. Where did it go, his throat was ripped. And have you seen how the boss is looking at people now? Like they're prey?"  
It almost seemed as if Butch was starting to hyperventilate.

"Calm down, please! You are not seriously telling me that-"

"Jim! I didn't expect you to come and visit me again so soon!"  
Oswald's chirping voice caused both men to flinch and turn towards the newcomer. The short criminal was standing surprisingly close and was smiling happily, seemingly oblivious of their conversation. Jim could not help but wonder why he had not heard the men's trademark footsteps. Feeling a little uneasy, he returned the smile, dreading the conversation which might ensue.


	7. Chapter 7

More so even than during their past encounters, Oswald could sense Jim's apparent uneasiness. He could literally smell it, as if the detective was not only uncomfortable, but nervous, bordering on scared. From his office, he had heard the front door opening and the two men's hushed voices. Staying quiet while approaching, he had witnessed most of their conversation. It troubled him immensely, Butch betraying his trust and Jim knowing even more than he already did. On the outside, he seemed cheerful and happy to see his old friend, pretending to be oblivious of what Butch had just told him. His mind was working hard to come up with some solution, some way to set Jim on the wrong track. But his efforts did not provide him with anything useful.

"I wanted to ask for intel. I thought, maybe you've heard some rumors."  
Jim shifted uncomfortably in his chair, barely looking at Oswald who was pacing the room restlessly.

"Ah, I see." The tone in his voice was slightly disappointed. It would have been prudent to inquire about his condition first.  
"Back to business then?"

Jim furrowed his brow, obviously confused by the question. It took him a while until he understood what the other meant.  
"Well, yes. After me helping you to get the test, I figured you might be willing to answer some questions."

It was likely Jim did not understand how much he just caught the criminal on the wrong foot by referring to anything that resembled favors.  
"Right."  
Oswald stopped pacing, he had his back turned to Jim, which was probably for the better. He had thought their relationship had improved again, somehow returned to something akin to friendship, maybe that Jim even cared about his wellbeing. It seemed these hopes were shattered now, thanks to… thanks to what exactly? To him misinterpreting Jim's actions? To Butch telling him about the corpse and his suspicions? In any case, he hated the development. With a cool gaze and lips pressed in a tight line, he turned to face the detective, whose eyes betrayed a little surprise at Oswald's sudden change of mood.

"I guess, I owe you a favor, hm?"  
The words were sardonic, his nostrils flaring as he approached Jim.  
"Fine. What do you want to know?"

Jim was taken aback by his change of demeanor, awkwardly breaking eye contact and slowly shaking his head. He did not expect him to take the simple question so badly. He did not even plan to call in a favor. He noticed that his people skills sorely needed improvement. And yet, the conversation with Butch ghosted around in his head and reminded him of whom he considered calling a friend, after all.

"I… look. I wasn't talking about favors. I did not mean to be rude."  
He had to force himself to change the direction the conversation was taking. Especially since his common sense told him to just keep on questioning the criminal and be off as soon as possible. Why he could not stand seeing the other so cold and disappointed, was beyond him, though.  
"How are you today?"

The question caused Oswald to raise his eyebrows in surprise. He blinked and tried to comprehend why Jim was suddenly being friendly.  
"I'm fine, thanks for asking." He replied almost mechanically.  
Maybe he had done him wrong and his temper had just taken the better of him. He had felt a little jittery for most of the day. The odd sense of hunger and craving was already returning, and even if it was not unpleasant yet, he was getting nervous. Little distressed him more than the loss of control, especially of his own body. How was he supposed to run an empire, if he could not even take proper care of himself? Looking at Jim, he had trouble concentrating, it was irksome that his scent put him under some sort of spell and made him feel both drawn to him and longing to taste him. Not like he did with Carlo. He had no intentions to hurt him, on the contrary, he just wanted a taste, both of his closeness and his blood. Without even noticing, he had stepped in front of him, so close, their knees almost touched. Why was it so hard to think rationally and stay in control of himself and the situation?

"Oswald?"  
The sound of his name brought him back to his senses. Especially since he had rarely ever heard Jim say his first name. He cleared his throat and took a step back.

"I'm sorry, I still get a little dizzy sometimes."  
For a moment, Oswald considered feigning to actually stumble, in hope Jim might catch him, but that seemed too silly and desperate.

"It's alright, don't worry. You should probably sit."

The comment made Oswald chuckle.  
"It seems you're telling me to sit quite frequently as of late."  
He did not sit down though, since that would have meant to bring more distance between them and he enjoyed being as close as etiquette would allow.

"Yeah, I guess, I do."  
Jim smiled a little amused. The smile was genuine and warm and let Oswald's heart beat a little faster. The friendly atmosphere was fragile, and he wanted nothing more than to maintain it for as long as possible.

"There is no need to worry about me anymore, I'm sure. No truculent drug in my system."  
His own smile betrayed a sense of relief he was allowing himself to feel. Maybe Jim had written off Butch's stammering as nonsense, after all.

Still smiling, Jim nodded until he coughed slightly and looked up at Oswald a little indecisively.  
"Can I still ask you some questions?"  
He apparently felt it might be inappropriate after the criminal's outburst.

"Go ahead, old friend."  
Oswald's voice was smoother now, his gaze soft, far from the mask of cold disappointment he had just worn minutes ago.

"Thanks. Do you know anything about the Moonshine Club? We've found a body in an alley close by and the circumstances seemed a little contradictory."

"Oh, yes. I've visited the establishment just yesterday. But there was nothing suspicious about it. No quarrel that I've witnessed, nothing. It seemed like one of the less shady places, if you know what I mean."  
He tried to recall the details, but came up with nothing that might help with the case.  
"How exactly were the circumstances contradictory?"

Instead of answering straight away, Jim broke eye contact for a moment. He could hardly tell him about a case so similar to Butch's story. Penguin's disclosure about his whereabouts technically made him a possible suspect, coming to think of something similar having happened in his proximity already.  
"It's complicated."

"I understand the details are disclosed, but I can't help you when you're withholding information."

Jim nodded jerkily and met the other's eyes again. Oswald had seemed happy when he greeted him, so maybe he did not overhear much of their conversation, and who was he if not a person to take a little chance.  
"Alright. The victim had his throat cut. But there was almost not blood to be found anywhere near him. Does that ring a bell?"

Oswald took a step back and blinked. He had not expected Jim to ask anything like that after what Butch had told him. As far as he could say, the victim might have been killed by one of the other vampires from the club, but he could hardly tell Jim, could he?  
"No. Not at all. But I can ask around, if you like."

"Sure, I'd appreciate it."  
It was obvious that Jim did not entirely trust his words, but for some reason he refrained from making further inquiries. Eventually, he rose from his chair and nodded respectfully.  
"Thanks for your help."  
With that he turned towards the office door, but hesitated, when he felt a pat on his shoulder.

"I will see you out."  
Oswald set off to take the lead, but after a few steps stopped and swayed slightly. Whereas he had decided a stunt such as pretending to faint was too silly so attempt, he was now truly overwhelmed by the sensations which slowly started to cloud his mind. Horrified, he noticed that his fangs were growing against his best effort and he swallowed hard trying to keep his posture.

Obviously thinking about his earlier words, Jim reacted and approached to steady him, wrapping his hands around his arms and gently pressing against Oswald's back. The smaller man's sharp intake of air was misinterpreted though.  
"I got you, it's okay."

The sweet gesture and the simple words were pushing Oswald's mind into a frenzy. Emotions he had tried to suppress were suddenly resurfacing again, joining those his senses just triggered, crashing over him like a tidal wave. It was simply too much for him to take and he started shaking badly, his breath erratic and his heart thrumming in his chest.  
Despite his slight discomfort at the situation, Jim eventually pulled him into a hug, holding him tight in hope he would stop shaking. He knew about traumata and sudden release of stress which might built up after disturbing events. So he thought nothing of it and tried his best to sooth the criminal, even if he was marveling about the absurdity of the situation. In a strange way, he did not even feel as uncomfortable as he expected, being so close to him.  
Slowly, Oswald's body ceased to tremble and he leaned into the warm embrace, savoring the moment he was sure would never repeat itself.

"Jim?" His voice was almost inaudible. "Thank you. For caring."

The detective lowered his arms and looked at the other, frowning.  
"What do you mean?"

"My wellbeing, silly."  
Oswald laughed nervously and turned around. That caused Jim to drop his hands to his sides, still a little irritated. The way he was looking at him made him feel uneasy. The gaze was soft, but intense. Similar to when he had looked at him during their conversation at the bar. Unfortunately, the effect it had on him was even stronger this time. He stared at the other, barely blinking. What was it about this look that made him feel so overwhelmed?

"Jim? Are you alright?"

But Jim did not answer. Instead, he kept looking at Oswald as if in search for something, until he eventually reached up, his fingers almost touching the other's cheek. Before they found their target however, he suddenly pulled back, blinking and shaking his head.  
"Yeah. Never mind."

The words and gesture left Oswald gaping at the detective in utter bewilderment. He could faintly hear Jim's breath and heartbeat, both quicker than they should have been. Even his scent had changed slightly, is was more intense now, stronger, as if to underline the odd behavior. It was not that he disliked the situation, he was just too confused by Jim's actions and his own troubling emotions to make sense of it. Jim seemed to feel the same way, but unfortunately, as bold as he usually was, he had the habit of wanting to escape situations that made him feel uncomfortable.

"I should go."  
The words sounded like a growl and he headed for the door, until he stopped midway and turned again to face Oswald. Something was keeping him in his proximity, just like the last time, like an asteroid being caught by the gravitation field of a planet. His head felt fussy, his mind made foggy by too many jumbled thoughts.

"Why did Butch tell me about the body you disposed of?" Jim suddenly blurted out, just asking the first question that came to his mind, without thinking.

"What?"  
Oswald blinked in confusion. Why would he ask him about it, endangering Butch and most likely the solution of the case?

"There was a body. Exsanguinated most likely. Just like the one we found in the alley."  
Jim was slowly finding back into a role he knew, he felt comfortable with. He could move on this terrain, it was safe. At least, it felt safer to him then.  
"Did you have anything to do with it?"

"No, I didn't! I have no idea what happened in the alley last night."  
Yet again, Oswald felt disappointed. He had thought they had some sort of connection before, and yet he could not feel angry, just confused.

"You told me I could trust you, that you would never hide the truth from me."

Oswald's lips formed a silent O. Jim was right, he had promised him not to lie. But how was he supposed to get out of the situation without confession a capital crime? Sure, it had been more or less an accident, but he could hardly tell Jim about the supernatural background. Unless… he did know about the drug in his system…

"Yes. I know. And I meant it. Please believe me that I've had nothing to do with what happened in that alley."  
He cleared his throat, trying to gain a little more confidence.  
"But I guess I should tell you about what happened in here."

Jim's eyes grew wide, he did not expect Oswald to open up about whatever had happened in his club.

"Two days ago, one of Maroni's former lieutenants appeared on my doorstep, intending to talk business. He threatened me. I can't recall the details, but when I came to senses, I was crouching over him, blood everywhere, his throat…"  
Although he tried to suppress it, he started shaking again. The memory was not particularly bad, but he had still not entirely adjusted to his new reality and confining this to Jim was troubling him more than he could tell. He looked up in surprise when he felt strong but gentle hands on his shoulders, soothing him.

"Please carry on."

"There were bite marks, like that of an animal. And I knew that it was me who had done this to him."  
He was not trying to use his tremor as a scheme, but he gave into it. Portraying himself as a victim was the only way to sway Jim in his favor.

The detective was observing his reaction calmly, only the little furrow of his brow betraying his troubled state.  
"Why didn't you tell me?"

Oswald's laugh was short and hysterical.  
"Oh right, confining a capital crime, telling you that I killed a man twice my size with only my teeth. Sounds reasonable."

"We've had a guy of my stature carrying an ATM machine with his bare hands. Remember the drug I've told you about?"

Somehow, Oswald could not believe that Jim was not immediately appalled by the story and instead even seemed to make sense of it. It gave him enough confidence to continue.  
"Yes, I do. You said, Butch told you that the body was exsanguinated, but there was little blood on the floor, right?"

Jim only nodded solemnly.

"Although I noticed this after a while, it felt different to me. My clothes and hands were soaked in his blood. But worst of all, I must have drank about half a gallon."

The intake of air was almost inaudible, but Oswald still noticed that the confession came as a shock.  
"And you didn't throw up afterwards?"

He shook his head, the unexpected question made him chuckle.  
"No. You saw me, I felt rejuvenated."

"And you really had nothing to do with the body behind the Moonshine Club?"  
Jim was obviously trying to put together the pieces. This only caused Oswald to roll his eyes at him.

"I told you I didn't. After telling you what happened in here, would I still try to hide the truth? Hardly."

Again, Jim nodded. To Oswald's surprise, he suddenly brought up his hands, gripped his jaw firmly and inspected his mouth closely. He had just remembered what he had seen while getting the probe a while ago. The smaller man could not have possible done that much damage to the guy's throat without the necessary tools.  
"Let me take a look at your teeth."  
It was no request, but an order.

Feeling more than a little uncomfortable, Oswald parted his lips. Being so close to Jim did not help much to calm him. The scent was clouding his mind and he had to shut his eyes in effort to concentrate.

Unfortunately, it got worse since Jim was now prodding one of his canines with a thumb. With all his might, Oswald tried to block out the sensations, the salty taste of his skin, the overwhelming scent, the other's body pressing forcefully against his own. Eventually, his inexperience got the better of him and he felt his fangs starting to grow. Before Jim could take his finger away, the pointy tip had already pierced his skin enough to draw a few tiny drops of blood. When they hit Oswald's tongue, it was as if time had suddenly stopped. In shock, he opened his eyes only to see how Jim was staring at him in disbelief. Oddly slow, he pulled his hands away and took a step back. If Carlo's blood had tasted great, Jim's was positively heavenly. Aghast, Oswald witnessed his own body reacting without his consent, approaching Jim again and quickly closing the space between them.  
After taking back a step, Jim found that he must have blinked longer than he had thought, since when he opened his eyes, Oswald was suddenly at him, holding him painfully tight, leaning over his neck, his expression wild, a strange fire in his eyes.

"Stop! I know you don't want to do this!"  
Jim growled and tried to push him away, but the smaller man's grip was too strong. He desperately tried to fight him, but even a kick to the other's groin did not have any effect. Just when he felt hot lips on his skin, Oswald abruptly pulled away and backed off in horror.

"Go!"  
His voice was a vicious snarl that woke Jim from his stupor.

Despite his better judgement, he tried to approach his friend in an attempt to calm him, but the growl he was greeted with made him reconsider and leave the office in a hurry.

* * *

On his way out, he stormed past a very confused looking Butch and only came to a halt outside the club, where he stopped to catch his breath and calm himself.

A drug, it had to be a drug. After all, the criminal had been administered something that had changed his blood, turning him into some kind of… not vampire, since nothing like that existed in reality. But something similar, created by a strange concoction of chemicals instead of a supernatural force. Jim was sure that had to be the explanation. After Viper and Dr. Crane's fear toxin, he was not surprised someone might have created a kind of vampire drug, probably infusing more than one unfortunate guinea pig with it and indirectly causing the death of at least two people. He was already dialing Harvey's number, when he decided against it and put his cellphone back into his pocket. His eyes darted back to the entrance to the club. He felt sorry for his so called friend, and above all, he was worried sick. Instead of feeling disgusted by the story and uncomfortable with coming so close, he still felt oddly drawn to him. He must have been crazy for thinking the situation was not all that bad and that he had almost enjoyed holding and soothing him. Instead of pondering about what was wrong with him, he fled his own thoughts by giving in to his need to protect his friend and eventually let his feet carry him back into the club.

* * *

After Jim had left, Oswald had slumped to his knees, burying his face in his hands and started to weep uncontrollably. He knew, he had almost given in to his desire and who could have said if he would have been able to stop himself from drinking too much of his blood, and most likely killing him as a consequence. It was all too much for him to process, the wonderful feeling of Jim's touches, his scent, his taste and the sense of doom which came with the realization of having almost killed him. This was not how he had hoped to taste or feel him. If there had ever been any chance of them becoming something akin to friends, he had now forfeit any chance of that every happening. Jim must think of him as a monster now, something worth putting down rather than putting behind bars. He was silently wondering if a bullet would kill him. He somehow doubted it. When there was a knock on the door, he only shouted that he wanted to be left alone. However, as it opened nevertheless, he was wondering for a moment which of his employees would be stupid and insolent enough to disobey his order.

Jim found him not far from where he had left him a few minutes ago. Taking a deep breath, he approached Oswald and knelt in front of him, not daring to touch him in case it upset him again.  
When he lowered his hands and quickly wiped the tears away, Oswald just stared at him as if he had seen a ghost.

"Tell me to leave, and I will."  
Jim's smile was warm and caring. Most definitely friendlier than Oswald had hoped for.  
He could not bring himself to chase him away again, even though he was still afraid of hurting him. Eventually, Jim helped him up and offered him a tissue. In any other case, Oswald would have felt embarrassed by anyone but his mother seeing him in such a state. But in some way, the sense of relief was suffocating any feeling of possible discomfort. Silently, he let Jim guide him to a chair, where he was pushed down gently.

He would have never thought to see the new boss of Gotham's underworld in such a vulnerable, and frankly human, state. During the past months, he had been successful escaping any advances of friendship by telling himself that he was a cop and Oswald was a criminal, worth being put behind bars. A simple painting of black and white. It was easier to see his enemies as such and not as the people they were at the end of the day. He had had a hard time seeing Oswald as just that, but whereas he had managed to do so before, he could not anymore. Not after such a confession of vulnerability. Instead of seeing him as a murderer or a monster, he seemed more human now than any time before.

"Why did you come back?"  
The question broke the silence and made Jim exhale a breath he did not know he was holding.

"I don't know. I had to."  
In a way, he knew why, but he could not bring himself to admit it.

A little smile appeared on Oswald's lips and he was finally meeting Jim's gaze.  
"I'm sorry for trying to attack you."  
He really was, but even more so he regretted not being able to control himself before even trying.

"And I'm sorry for kicking you."  
Jim smiled in hopes of breaking the tension at least a little.

Oswald was looking at him with a puzzled expression. He tried to remember when his friend had kicked him, and as it dawned him when and where, he could not help but blush.  
"Oh. Never mind, I barely noticed."  
A tiny voice in his head lamented that it might not have been for the worst if he had.

When Jim noticed the blush, he cleared his throat, feeling a touch uncomfortable. He was aware of why Oswald reacted like that, and yet he did not regret his actions, given he had had limited range and only his legs to fend him off during their quarrel.

Both of them fell silent for a while. Though it was an awkward silence at first, they both became aware of being undeniably comfortable in the other's presence for the first time.  
It was when Oswald became aware of Jim's accelerated heartbeat and the faint blush on his cheeks that he gave in to a crazy hunch that was manifesting itself in the back of his head. After all, he could just pin his actions to him still being confused and overwhelmed by the situation. Before Jim could realize what was happening, Oswald had reached up, pulled him down and placed a chaste but firm kiss on his lips.

For a moment, Jim was too surprised to object or pull back. The odd sensation of being drawn to Oswald was muting any voice of reason that might have tried to wake him. Just when he wanted to give in to the tempting invitation and slowly started to return the kiss, realization struck and hit him so hard, he almost felt it physically. Gasping, he backed off and stared at the smaller man without saying a word. Oswald stared back at him, his expression almost as shocked. Before any of them could say a word, Jim turned and left as quickly as a few minutes ago.

Slowly touching his lips, Oswald shook his head. How could he have been so stupid? If the attack had not put his friend off, this most certainly had. And yet he could not quite bring himself to regret it. Too good had the soft lips felt on his, too exhilarating the feeling of Jim's heartbeat under his fingers. He had even imagined that for a split second, the detective had leaned in, returning the kiss. But no, that must have been the sense of surprise. After all, Jim Gordon was certainly the least likely person to agree to his advances.


	8. Chapter 8

Surely, agreeing to Oswald's advances was not the first thing that came to Jim's mind while leaving the club. At least, he told himself as much. After a short drive through the scarcely light streets, he returned to his own shabby apartment. Usually, he preferred to stay at Lee's place, but too much was going on in his mind to bother her with what worries he might have. Or maybe he was just trying to avoid uncomfortable questions. Though they were occasionally talking about each other's feelings and anxieties, the act of kissing someone else, was it willingly or not, and details about a friend's medical condition were different matters altogether.

Sleep did not come easy, his mind was way too busy with processing the events. He could hardly deny that he had had certain suspicions concerning Oswald's feelings towards him, as obvious as his reactions had occasionally been. The confirmation neither bothered nor surprised him much, and in most cases, he would have just written it off, never to think or talk about it again. God knew, his friend had been agitated, so no telling if he had actually been serious about it. And still, there was a little detail that kept Jim wondering. As desperately as he tried to suppress the notion, he could not come to terms with having actually liked it. He had enjoyed the warm feeling of his lips, his gentle touch, and his closeness. Hell, he had been a breath away from returning the kiss. This issue was bothering him more than the incident itself. To cap it all, he was still worried about Oswald's condition, especially after he had almost bit him. And yet, he could not help thinking about how he had stopped himself for Jim's sake. It was painfully obvious that he cared for him, more than just for an average friend.

When he woke up the morning after, he felt drained. Blurry images of bizarre dreams still lingered in his memory. Most of them contained Oswald. It would not have been that unsettling, Jim knew that thoughts about his condition and the friendship were occupying his mind quite regularly. What concerned him far more was the questionable nature of those dreams. He preferred to forget about them as quickly as possible. In any case, he was putting his hopes into a nice cold shower.

* * *

Oswald's night had not been much different, his thoughts trailed off to what happened the prior evening, and even though he had enjoyed some parts immensely, worries overshadowed any sense of happiness or comfort. He would approach Jim and tell him that he had just been in over his head and that he was more than content with friendship and nothing but. Jim must have noticed his looks at some time before and it should not be too much of a problem to acknowledge that he felt attracted towards him, but was very well inclined to let it rest for the sake of friendship. At least, he told himself as much.

How he managed to juggle his now thriving business, his condition and personal life, he could not tell. Somehow, he pulled through, even scouting for a proper place to live, getting in contact with some renowned realtors. Amongst all the work, he avoided visiting his mother, instead he called her on the phone, apologizing for not being able to visit her as regularly as he used to and sending her the most beautiful flower bouquets and sometimes presents. She seemed happy enough about it, but kept telling him that she missed him dearly. The actual reason why he dreaded meeting her beside his business obligations, he tried not to think about. In truth, he did not want to know how she smelled to him. The simple thought that she might smell like other humans, made him panic and discard further plans to visit her in person any time soon.

A matter that he felt more comfortable with, although he was a little anxious about it, was his need for sustenance. I was easy to choose a potential victim, one of his henchmen had been disloyal and needed to be disposed of. He was a young healthy guy whose scent Oswald found pleasant enough to give it a try. Whatever happened to him would not matter, since he would be put down one way or another. Being a mob boss had its perks if one was a vampire. A variety of potential victims, no issues with avoiding the sun, and life in a very secretive environment were almost too convenient. And yet, when the man was shown into his office, he suddenly felt way less confident than he would have expected. It was one thing to accidently bite someone compared to planning the attack in advance. The thought that something well planned might make him more uncomfortable than a chaotic rash action, made Oswald smile sourly due to the sheer irony. After Gabe had left the room, he gestured the man to sit in the chair opposite of his desk.

"Please, take a seat. You might be wondering why I sent for you. Are you aware of why I needed to have a word with you?"

The young man looked nervous, his eyes were darting towards the door. Chances were that he knew he had been caught dealing with opposing gangs.  
"No, sir. I'm afraid I have no idea."

That made Oswald chuckle hoarsely and raise his eyebrows in dark amusement.  
"You, my dear, are a very bad liar."

The guy swallowed audibly and looked at his employer with an anxious expression.  
"I didn't mean to, honestly, I had no idea!"

Sighing, Oswald rose from his chair, circled his desk and came to a halt right in front of his henchman.  
"Oh don't embarrass yourself. How could you possibly make a deal with one of your employer's competitors by accident, hm? You can't possibly be this dense."  
He felt comfortable showing off his superiority and making the man squirm in his seat. Unfortunately, he had to try to not worry too much about what he had in mind. His employee shook his head, obviously aware of possible consequences.

"Please, sir, it won't happened again."

Oswald smiled and made am unimpressed tsk sound.  
"That's what they all say. I know well enough that you'll turn your back on me again as soon as the opportunity arises. Trust me, I know I would…"  
The comment took the man by surprise and Oswald drew a breath and closed his eyes for a moment.  
"So yes, it won't happen again. I'm all for second chances, don't get me wrong, but unfortunately for you, I can't afford taking a risk."

Slowly, the implications of the comment sunk it. When Oswald opened his eyes and observed the scared man below him, he smiled showing his fangs. At least, he managed to make them grow simply by thinking about what he was about to do next. It took considerable strength to stop worrying about how the situation could get out of hand and to concentrate only on the pleasant feeling of anticipation. Naturally, the man expected to be executed in some way, being bit by his boss certainly was not one of them. The action took him by surprise, he did not even put up a fight. Oswald had to admit it helped tremendously that he had easy access to his neck and he was keeping relatively still due to the moment of surprise. When he finally sunk his teeth into the soft skin, it felt perfect. The anxiety was gone and only the blissful feeling of the guy's hot blood gushing down his throat remained. Although he had merely planned to feed, Oswald noticed that he kept a surprisingly clear head during the process which led him to test himself a little. He took extra care of being as gentle as possible and even stopped after a while and drew back. It was not easy, but it was feasible. The man just looked at him in disbelief, he was apparently too weak to say something or attempt to move. His neck looked very different from Carlo's, if Oswald had not planned his demise, he could have just as well closed the wound and the thug would have been perfectly fine after a bit of rest and maybe a blood transfusion.

A tiny smile crept onto his lips and he resumed drinking slowly, savoring the taste and feeling of the warm skin underneath. When he pulled back a second time, which took a little more concentration than the first, he was surprised to find then man's face a little flushed despite the apparent pallor that now decorated his skin.  
"That's interesting…" He smiled to himself, making mental notes to conduct further tests next time.

Just before he stopped drinking - Victor had told him that it could have unfortunate consequences to still be feeding at the moment of death or after - the man struggled a bit, eventually understanding that his boss was not going to let him live, until he went limp and Oswald leaned back, liking his lips. He was proud of having been able to show such remarkable restraint and not even making much of a mess. Apparently, he was not the only one of that opinion.

"Well done. You're a quick learner, I give you that."

"Victor!"  
The assassin's voice and the sound of his short mock clapping, caused Oswald to jerk back and stare at him.  
"I'd appreciate it, if you knocked next time."

"Oh please, it was absolutely worth forgetting my manners, trust me."  
Zsasz came closer and inspected the guy's neck with his gloved fingertips. Happily, he licked off the traces of blood that stained the black leather.

"If you forget them again, it won't be worth it, I assure you."  
Feeling a little uncomfortable, Oswald noticed that his voice did not sound quite as threatening as he had hoped.

"Relax, it's a onetime thing. I wanted to watch your progress, that's all."

He did feel a little annoyed with Victor, but not enough to scold him further. In fact, he was in a too good mood to complain.  
"I've been wondering, can we feed without killing people? Not that I'm planning to do that much, I'm just asking out of curiosity."

"Sure, it's way less fun and a bit hazardous due to the risk of the victim spilling the beans, but sure. No problem."  
Slowly, Victor's casual and indifferent expression turned into an unsettling smile.  
"You're not asking because that's what you wanted to know…"

The smile made Oswald a little defensive. Naturally, he could have answered the question by himself. The actual question that was lingering on his mind, he felt too tentative to ask. With the tips of his ears flushing, he straightened himself and gave Zsasz a stern look.  
"No."

"Of course not. Well, it can be quite entertaining on occasion to drink not for the sake of drinking but for slightly more intimate purposes. Though you don't seem to bother much about that aspect, as far as I can tell."  
Oswald had to hand it to Victor that he had at least the decency to put his no-dates policy into polite words.

"It's not a question of interest, I simply don't have time to spare for secondary matters such as that. But some day, the information might prove useful."  
Zsasz huffed and it seemed as if a laugh was caught in his throat. Clearly, he had a different opinion on the subject. Eventually, he nodded curtly and turned to face the door.

"Wait. Call in Butch, I think we need to talk."

* * *

"He tried to bite you?!"  
Nygma's eyes went wide and Jim was sure he could detect a curious gleam in them.

"Yes, but please, be quiet about it. I had no other person to talk to about this."  
With his hands stretched out in front of him, he ushered his colleague to stay calm. The words and gesture helped, Nygma seemed happy enough to prove an exclusive confidant of his favorite detective.  
"Look, I feel like I'm losing control over the situation. The drug must be gone from his system by now, and even if someone manages to slip it into his drink or something, the symptoms are too complex and frankly weird to make any sense."  
With a exasperated sigh, Jim slumped to one of the chairs and massaged the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sure there is a scientific explanation for this, detective. So far we have the restorative abilities and probably blood drinking. Are there any further symptoms?"

"I wish I knew… It might be linked to the Moonshine case, what if the drug or whatever it is, is spreading? Someone has to be behind it and has to have an agenda."

Nygma narrowed his eyes and adjusted his glasses. He was probably the only one who had fun with the case.  
"One victim and one assault make for no pattern. Why are you so sure it wasn't Cobblepot who attacked the man in the alley?"

As much as he liked to share the details, he could hardly confirm that he was letting Penguin go with killing another victim in the same manner.  
"Just trust me on this. It wasn't him."  
After all, why would he confess one murder, but not the other? He could not pinpoint why, but he felt he could trust the criminal on this.

"Alright, assuming it wasn't, we have at least two culprits under the drug's influence… my guess is that someone is testing the drug, someone with a personal vendetta against Cobblepot. The person could have been planning to pin the murder on him, you said earlier he was at the club, too?"

Determined to make progress in the case, Jim nodded and tried to think about what Nygma just said.  
"Might be a possible motive. But sorting out potential enemies of Cobblepot is like finding a needle in a haystack."

To that, his colleague just shrugged.  
"It looks to me as if the only way to advance is to talk to your little friend."

It took Jim a while until he cleared his throat and bashfully averted his gaze. He had dreaded the answer, although he had been fully aware of having to speak with Oswald again sooner or later. He had only hoped it to be rather later than sooner.

* * *

"You know, I would really like to trust you, Butch. But spilling our little secret to Detective Gordon was a harsh disappointment."  
Oswald sat behind his desk again, his hands folded on the wooden surface. He had made a little show out of Zsasz carrying out the body as soon as Butch entered his office.

"Boss, it's just, I'm worried about you."  
The brawny man was kneading his fingers anxiously.

"That's touching, really."  
His voice was laced with sarcasm, but before he could continue, there was a curt rap at the door and Zsasz entered.  
"Victor! How nice of you to remember a little courtesy."

The hitman had the gall to roll his eyes, but although it vexed Oswald a little, he once again did not care enough to do anything about it. Zsasz leaned at the edge of the table, fixing his unblinking gaze on Butch.

"As I was saying, that's very considerate. But you understand, I cannot have you disobey me, Butch."  
His stern look softened a little and he nodded towards Zsasz.  
"Still, I have decided to go easy on you, as you will to honor your good intentions. Victor will spend the evening with you, reminding you gently of where your loyalties lie."

Butch seemed to have a hard time deciding whether that was good or bad news. Before he could react, however, there was another knock and Gabe appeared, as gruff and chummy as ever.  
"Sorry to bother you, boss, but the detective wants to see you."

When Oswald noticed that he had stared at Gabe open mouthed for a few seconds, he blushed and coughed a little embarrassed.  
"Thanks Gabe, please let him in. And Victor, be sure to take good care of dear Butch here."

Reluctantly, Gilzean followed Zsasz, not closing the door behind him. Suddenly, Oswald felt a very pressing urge to flee. He had hoped the conversation would take place after he had come to terms with the incident. And yet, a part of him felt oddly happy to see his friend so soon after. Before he could calm himself sufficiently, Jim already appeared in the door frame.

"Jim! Please, come in!"  
The cheerful greeting only masked his jitteriness to some extent.

"Thanks."  
The detective stepped into the room, closed the door and approached the table with his typically aplomb steps.

"I did not expect to see you again so soon."  
He could just feel how flushed his face must look like, which only embarrassed him further. Jim seemed a little reluctant, but calm. When he took a seat, Oswald nearly jumped out of his and quickly busied himself with pouring the both of them drinks.

Jim was thankful for the notion, took the glass in his hand and downed it in one gulp. It made Oswald, who was sipping his drink slowly, smile despite himself.  
"First, you're having a hard time accepting any kind of beverage and look at you now, downing my whiskey as if it was the most casual thing in the world."

The hint of a smile decorated Jim's features when he put his glass down at the desk.  
"Things change."  
His eyes met Oswald's and it took them both considerable time to find a way to start the conversation.

"So, what brings you here tonight?"  
The sensation of his own accelerated heartbeat made him feel even more nervous than he already was.

"Actually, I've realized that the only way to solve this mystery is to work together."

"Aren't we already?"  
At Jim's words he was both disappointed and relieved.

"Yes, but I need more information. So far, I don't even have a lead on the case, nor do we know that much more about your condition."

Of course, Jim would not talk about what happened the prior evening. And in a way, it made Oswald feel reassured. He still seemed friendly enough and most likely had written the incident off as confusion on his friend's side. It was the easiest way to cope with the situation. And yet, it felt somehow lacking. But lacking what? Closure? Resolution?

"True. And I agree, maybe we should finally put all our cards on the table."  
It only dawned him when he spoke those words that he was actually planning to do exactly that. What was the difference between being under the influence of a drug or of some inexplicable force? Jim would hardly go to the Gotham Gazette and expose him. Nor would he try to hunt him down. He just felt fed up with seeing his friend desperately struggling to figure out the answer as to what had happened to him. Besides, he was very willing to help him solve the case. The only thing was that he by any means had no idea of how to break it to him.

"Sounds good to me."

As nervous as he was, Oswald managed to laugh.  
"Last time I wanted to put my cards on the table, you grabbed me by the collar and held Butch at gunpoint."

"Oh."  
After remembering what Oswald was referring to, Jim's look became bashful.  
"Sorry about that. I was under a lot of pressure back then."

"Apology accepted. It was the Ogre case, wasn't it?"

"Yes, he had kidnapped Barbara and manners weren't as much my priority then."

Oswald poured him another glass of whiskey.  
"It's fine, really. I'm glad we can talk much more relaxed now."  
The slight tremor in his hands while holding the bottle told otherwise, however.

"You don't seem so relaxed…"

"If you knew what I'm about to tell you, you wouldn't be surprised."

The answer puzzled Jim, he took the glass, almost flinching when their hands brushed accidentally.  
"It's not because of… you know."  
His expression was tight, he suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

"No, well, yes, but no."  
His stuttering caused him to laugh nervously.  
"Since you brought it up, I'm really sorry about what I did yesterday."

"It's fine, it wasn't your fault. And you kept yourself from biting me, after all."

Oswald blinked in response, obviously confused.  
"Oh, that. I've already apologized for trying to attack you. I meant… never mind."

The comment made Jim clench his teeth, he hated situations in which he was not sure how to respond, especially since he felt bad about possibly hurting the other's feelings by accident.  
"Don't apologize for it. It's not as if you'd hurt me or anything."  
He had to avert his gaze as he felt his cheeks get a little warm out of embarrassment. Was it really embarrassment? At least, he tried to convince himself of that.

"No, but I had no right to. I didn't ask for your consent. I don't know what had gotten in me."

"It's okay, really. Don't worry too much about it. You've been under a lot of stress and I offered consolation. It's no surprise something like that came to your mind."

Oswald had to admit that he was taken aback by the calm and almost gentle manner in which his friend talked about the kiss. Sure, he still felt ashamed, but the patience and understanding he was meeting him with, made him feel warm and comfortable inside.  
"I'm glad we can put that issue aside."

If he had not known it better, he would have said Jim's look was a tad disappointed.

"Well, cards on the table, despite what I told you before, I know what happened to me. At least, now I do. Back when I approached you first, I had no idea."

Jim had just been leading the glass to his mouth when he thought better and put it down again.  
"What…? Since when?"

"Since… I don't know, a couple of days. It has been only a week since the guy attacked me."  
But then he sighed and rolled his eyes.  
"Fine, after I killed Carlo. That's what confirmed my theory."

Jim frowned at the casual mention of a murder, but mostly looked at Oswald utterly confused.

"Look, this will sound crazy, I warn you. But hear me out. I haven't told you all about my symptoms. In addition to those you know about, I have an aversion to sunlight, am way stronger than any normal man, can't digest normal food anymore and yes, I really do need to consume blood."

In any other situation, Jim would have laughed and told him to stop kidding. Given all the things he had witnessed already, the pieces just fell into place. Which did not make the idea that much more believable, though.  
"You are telling me that you are what, a vampire?"

"Why yes, James, that is precisely what I am implying. And before you storm out, angry about me not taking the situation seriously or just call on Arkham, please, let me finish. I do remember what happened that night. I just couldn't tell you. I got ambushed, but not mugged, not drugs involved. The guy sank his teeth into my neck, drank until I was almost dead and then offered me his blood, telling me to drink if I wanted to live. And I did. Trust me, you know when you die, it's something unmistakable… and utterly terrifying."

While listening to Oswald's story, Jim's hand squeezed his glass so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Common sense told him that it was impossible, but in fact, it was the only thing that explained the situation. Still, he could not quite wrap his head around it. There was nothing supernatural, he never believed in anything like it, hell, even as a child he had quickly figured out that there was nothing like Santa Claus. Not that these cases had much in common, though.

"I know it's hard to swallow."  
Oswald rose from his chair and approached Jim slowly. He put a hand on his right cuff and pushed it back so that his wrist was exposed.  
"Please, feel my pulse."

His heartbeat had slowed again, just spiking when he was extremely nervous, angry or otherwise emotionally involved. Now, he was nothing but determined. It was possible to influence it to a certain extent, though not nearly as easily as the growth of his teeth.

Reluctantly, Jim wrapped his fingers around his wrist and waited. They both waited for more than a minute, starring at Oswald's pale wrist in silence. Without letting go, Jim finally met his eyes.  
"I can't feel it. You shouldn't be conscious."  
Suddenly, he let go and put his fingers on Oswald's neck, just above the collar. When he could not feel any movement under his fingertips either, he caught his breath and shook his head.  
"That's not possible."  
His words were barely audible, but somehow, something kept him from pulling back. Oswald's determined gaze had put him under that sort of spell again. Jim felt it was oddly reassuring that he had an idea now why that was.

"I know, it shouldn't be. But trust me, this is real."  
Oswald gently put his hand on Jim's and held it there. Slowly, he released a breath and noticed how his heartbeat became stronger, the scent and warm feel of Jim's hand making it fairly easy to let go. After a while, Jim's eyes widened and he stood up, if just because he could not bear sitting still anymore.

"Why can I feel your pulse now?"  
Yet again, the words were like a whisper.

"Because I want you to, silly."  
The smile was gentle and warm, and somehow he could not help but to put his other hand on Oswald's cheek and lean a little closer.

The little voice of reason was muted by the strong and inexplicable desire to feel his lips again, remembering some of the scenarios of his dreams. He was not drunk from one glass of whiskey, but his mind felt pleasantly clouded. If he just gave in to the temptation, he could always say it was just because of the odd spell that Oswald's nature might have on him now, or maybe by the whiskey. Be it just one little drink.

Oswald was obviously trying to figure out what Jim had in mind. Maybe he was trying to figure out whether it was a lie after all? He was most certainly searching his eyes for something. If it hadn't been for Jim's scent suddenly becoming even more alluring, his pupils dilating and his heartbeat and breath quickening, he could have believed in that theory. But instead, his mind was racing. He had had the impression of Jim wanting to return the kiss, but discarded the idea, because it seemed nothing but insane. Though, before he could figure out what was happening or why, he felt Jim's body pressing against his, covering the short distance between them and finally meeting his lips, pulling him into soft, but forceful kiss.

While he could not believe what was happening, he forgot to return the kiss and just stood unmoving until Jim suddenly pulled back.  
"Oh God, I thought you… forget about it." He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to get a clear head again. "I'm so sorry, I-"

But as he lowered his hands, he could barely catch his breath before he felt Oswald's lips again, his hands pulling him closer and caressing the back of his neck. Greatly relieved, Jim eventually melted into the kiss, his hands gently stroking the other's back. It was as if his emotions were unraveling and he just let himself get carried away, stepping into the abyss without any hesitation.

Oswald could hardly believe his luck and hungrily grasped his chance at tasting and feeling as much of the detective as possible. He soon stopped wondering why this suddenly happened and instead let go and concentrated only on the moment itself. The kiss quickly got more heated than he had ever hoped for, when he felt Jim's tongue cautiously entering his mouth and one of his hands travelling lower to grab his butt, he could not stop himself from moaning in surprise.

Just when he could have sworn to feel something slightly firm pressing against his legs, Jim broke the kiss, leaned back a little and tried desperately to catch his breath. Oswald's hand still rested in his hair and on the back of his neck, though he could not do anything but smile. He had no idea what would happen next, let alone what he might say to Jim. So he just smiled warmly and gently caressed Jim's soft skin with his fingertips.  
"I don't know what I'm going to do if we carry on."  
Jim finally said breathlessly. His expression puzzled, his face flushed.

"Does it matter?"  
Oswald was amazed at his own boldness, when he stepped towards him and started kissing him again, this time open-mouthed and pushing his hips against Jim's. His impression had been right, his friend was most certainly reacting in a far more intense way than he would have expected. When he returned the favor and teasingly squeezed his butt through the rough fabric of his slacks, Jim made a sound that was closer to a growl than a moan. It made Oswald almost loose his mind and let his thoughts wander to far less innocent matters than just a kiss.

To his disappointment, Jim pulled back again. It was obvious that he had to show considerable self-control on his part, but after slowly and rather reluctantly pulling his hands back, he took a step away and closed his eyes for a second. His next step was to take his whiskey glass and down the drink without hesitation.

"Well, that most certainly came as a surprise."  
Oswald had somehow managed to come up with enough bravery to comment on their encounter.

"Yeah…"  
Jim on the other side had trouble putting together any coherent words.

"Why don't we let this sink in and you'll call me tomorrow once you have a clear head?"

"Yeah…"  
The taller man cleared his throat and straightened his suit jacket.

"Don't get any ideas of squirming yourself out of talking about this, understood?"  
Oswald's face was again very determined and Jim almost gave in to the desire of pulling him in to a kiss again, but decided against it. For Oswald, this was not one of those infamous heat of the moments affairs, none of them were drunk, overly agitated or had any other excuse for this not having been a conscious decision.

"Oh, and take your time with processing what I told you."

Slowly, Jim nodded, absentmindedly patted Oswald's shoulder and shakily made his way out of the office.

Oswald could not help but smile to himself, taking a seat in the chair which Jim had occupied and sipping at his whiskey, using Jim's glass instead of his own. It was not that he had always dreamed of this happening. He simply never wanted to indulge in fantasies he had no hope of coming true, thus just disappointing or frustrating him sooner or later. Now, he let his mind wander and instead of trying to figure out how and why it happened, he just thought about how the situation might have continued, had they not both come to their senses in time.


	9. Chapter 9

Just and righteous as he liked to see himself, the nagging feeling of a guilty conscience was relatively new to Jim Gordon. Sure he had made some mistakes in his life, especially in his teenage years, but his occupations as a soldier and cop had always given him ready excuses. Though they never really eased the nasty feeling that lingered after having been forced to hurt or kill a person, like a faint shadow in the corner of his vision, impossible to grasp, but never to truly go away.

And yet, he liked excuses, he preferred not to personally take responsibility. Professional responsibility of course, but in his private life he either chose to use his job as an excuse or prevent situations that might lead to him feeling guilty altogether. He had never cheated on Barbara, unless one counted the first encounters with Leslie, even though Jim had been convinced that his former fiancée had clearly broken up with him at that time. Since high school he had not been in such a precarious situation. It did not help that he had thought at the time that he could blame it on the alcohol or the strange allure the man seemed to have these days. He knew all too well that he had not been drunk. And thinking about the effect Oswald had on him only made things worse.

Just when he successfully managed to concentrate on his work, Nygma approached and riddled him with questions about Oswald's condition. Jim only stated that he had not learned anything new, which in consequence had caused Bullock to raise his eyebrows, his partner did not tell him that he had visited Penguin again. The following sarcastic comment he met with a more aggressive defense than he had anticipated, but thinking about what had happened and how damn good it had felt made Jim feel so far out of his comfort zone that he did not dare to even try to cope with the events.

For most of the day he tried not to think about it, hoping that his friend would forget about the call he owed him. At least work proved to be a welcome distraction, although the Moonshine case was reminding him of Oswald's predicament. Unfortunately, in favor of the case he had to acknowledge the idea of some kind of vampire affliction, no matter what the scientific explanation proved to be. Before Jim could make up his mind, Harvey decided upon visiting the Moonshine Club after sunset. Whether his partner merely wanted to satisfy his curiosity about the new nightclub or had any hopes of finding new clues, was beyond him. Not that he cared much, following this lead was just as well as any other approach.

* * *

Oswald found the envelope lying on his desk when he entered his office shortly before opening. The antique gold colored paper was decorated with a tasteful art deco design and spelled nothing but his name. He felt relieved when Gabe mentioned that it had been delivered earlier the day with instructions to place it there. The letter inside was short and handwritten. It was an invitation by a Stephano Mandragora, the owner of the Moonshine Club and Galante's boss. He was asked in an excessively polite manner to join him for dinner this evening in a private room of his establishment. The fact that he could not consume normal food anymore did not bother him much. Many criminals of a high status were known to be paranoid and overly cautious, usually for a good reason. The polite refusal to eat at a meeting was not uncommon.

As busy as he was with arranging shady deals and organizing meetings with various suppliers and affiliates, he could not help but to glance at his cellphone more often than he liked to admit. Jim did not call, and Oswald was not so sure anymore whether he actually counted on him calling or had already accepted that he was waiting in vain. His pride kept him from calling Jim himself, besides, he wanted to give him time to think. The situation made him feel restless and rather uneasy. Every time he thought back to their unlikely encounter, his cheeks flushed slightly and his stomach felt very light. For months he had hoped for something like this to happen, although he had tried to suppress those thoughts in order to not feel too disappointed by the shattering reality of Jim not even acknowledging their friendship. And yet, now that he had shown very clear signs of attraction towards him, things proved to be even more complicated than before. Especially since Oswald was now faced with the even harder task of suppressing any feelings that might exceed mere physical desire. After all, a heated make out session was one thing, but Jim developing actual feelings for him was still an utter impossibility.

* * *

They met Galante at the entrance of the Moonshine Club. Oswald had left Butch to take care of his own establishment this time and had taken Gabe with him instead, as well as Zsasz, who seemed to be indispensable these days. The proprietor was a little less overbearing than at their first meeting, his manner was more humble, which Oswald decided to be a good sign. The room they were shown to was situated in the back of the club. It was just as lavishly decorated as the public halls, if not even more luxuriously. He almost let himself get distracted by the beautiful 20s style furniture and the magnificent paintings that complimented the mood perfectly. A well dressed and sophisticated looking man with stern, but gentle features, impeccably groomed silver grey hair and a thin dapper like moustache had already taken seat at the head of a long dining table. He looked straight out of an early black and white movie, and somehow it was hard to imagine him as anything but a Mafioso. If he had not known a man such as that was most likely trouble, Oswald would have probably taken a liking to him.

"Mr. Cobblepot! Stephano Mandragora… I see you have accepted my invitation. Please, sit. What a pleasure to make your acquaintance."  
His gravelly voice was friendly and almost sincere.

"Likewise, sir."  
It was only when he took the seat opposite of Mandragora at the other end of the dining table that he noticed something that caused him to almost break his polite and collected demeanor. Zsasz looked as calm and indifferent as ever, though he nodded slightly as his boss gave him a short questioning look. Since Galante took a seat next to his superior, Zsasz and Gabe also joined the other men at the table.

"Thank you for your invitation. I had already been lamenting that I would unfortunately have to deny an exquisite meal, but given the circumstances, I suppose I didn't have to worry."

The man opposite of him laughed heartily. If there had been any doubt before, the subtle shape of his fangs did not go unnoticed.  
"No, most definitely not. But you couldn't have known, could you."

While exchanging pleasantries, Oswald's brain was working on accessing the situation. The Bartinellis disappeared when the Maronis and Falcones took over. And come to think of it, the name Mandragora did in fact ring a bell. Could he be the former head of the Bartinelli family? If he had been turned at least thirty years ago, he could very well be the same person. The idea simultaneously fascinated and scared Oswald. He was not ready to share his empire again so soon or otherwise get into conflict with such a powerful player. And if there was any man who could pose a significant threat to his new empire, it was Gotham's first ever Don.

Fortunately, living under Falcone's and Maroni's wings, he had developed a very convincing poker face. Moreover, the presence of another mob boss was way less daunting now than about year ago, when he was still holding Fish's umbrella. Meetings with Falcone had been intimidating back then. Working for Maroni, too, at first. But things had soon lost their menace, when he got used to them. Besides, he was the number one in this city now, and he would not bow before anyone ever again, that much he had sworn himself the moment he had climbed the edge of the rooftop after sending Fish flying to meet her demise.

"I have to admit, your establishment is quite impressive."  
He decided on a diplomatic approach, at least for now.

"I'm glad to hear that, I paid utmost attention to recreated or exceed the look of the original club. Did you know I used to run it back then?"

"No. But I figured as much. I apologize, I did not mean to come off as aggressive on my last visit, but you know how things work in this city. I thought some rooky with little knowledge of the recent developments concerning Gotham's underworld had forgotten his manners and I felt it was my place to set things right."  
Pleasantries aside, he did not like to postpone the actual business talk any longer.  
"As I see now, you are neither a rooky nor have you forgotten your manners. However, I still wonder why you didn't talk to me earlier."

Mandragora just smiled and slowly folded his hands in his lap.  
"Let's say, I wanted to see first who I'm dealing with before approaching you."

Oswald could not suppress a frown. He understood the reasoning, but that did not mean he liked it.  
"Well, now you did. I can't help but wonder what you are aiming at. Why did you come back?"

"My my, the young are always so impatient. Let's not get to business on an empty stomach, my friend."  
Mandragora gave Galante a sign and the man got up and left the room. Oswald blinked in confusion, what was that about? But before he could ask, Galante returned with a young man and a woman in tow. They were gagged and their hands bound behind their backs. The smell of expensive champagne on them together with the fancy evening get-up made it painfully obvious that they had been unsuspecting guests of the Moonshine Club before being chosen to end up as a meal for Mandragora and his royal avian guest.

* * *

"Have to hand it to whoever runs this joint. They got style…"  
It was more than obvious that Bullock was enjoying their investigation.

"It's nice, I guess."  
Jim was less convinced than his partner, probably due to his dislike of dodgy nightclubs and crowded party locations.

"Oh come on, don't be such a sourpuss. And stop drinking soft drinks, it's embarrassing."

"I don't drink on duty. At least if I can avoid it."  
The younger cop could not help but sigh.

"Look, this is my third drink and we ain't getting nowhere by the looks of it. So either you chat someone up to reveal vital information or you join me now and make the most of it."

They had been sitting at the bar for about an hour now and everything looked painfully inconspicuous. Not even a little brawl or hints towards drug dealing, for Gotham's standards the club seemed strangely tame.

"Look, I'm going to get some fresh air. Try to stay put unless duty calls."  
His partner chuckled at the ambiguity and resumed watching the other guests, while Jim went to the restrooms in hope of finding a backdoor that led into one of the alleys behind the club. After a short search, he got lucky and found himself in an alley adjacent to the one they found the body in two nights ago. He walked around for a bit in hope of finding something of interest, but the alley proved as unremarkable as the club itself. Something had to be wrong, it was all too clean, no place in Gotham was this impeccable. Not that he approved of drug dealings or particularly fancied witnessing some prostitute giving a shady guy head in a dark corner, but at least he would not have had this annoying feeling of having missed something.

He found himself standing at the spot where they had found the corpse when he heard the sound of a door closing coming from the club's exit. Did someone just left the building? No one was in sight. Then footsteps. Jim turned around again, but could not see anyone in the dimly lit street.  
Just as his hand went to his badge and he already opened his mouth to shout 'GCPD', he felt strong hands closing around his arms, pulling him back. The hot breath he felt on his neck was oddly familiar. He had a hunch of what was happening to him and he did not at all feel like ending up as a midnight snack for some fanged low life. With all his strength, he smashed his elbow into the assailant's stomach which apparently took the attacker by surprise and gave Jim enough room to break free of the grip and spin around to face the guy.  
Though guy was not quite the right term. He had expected a brawny man judging by the strong grasp, but before him he saw a slender woman approximately his height.

"GPCD! You didn't commit a crime yet, so I-"

But the woman just grinned, showing her threatening teeth and jumped towards him, knocking him off balance, trying to reach his neck. He fought her off as best as he could, unfortunately, she proved to be very quick and relentless.

"I always liked some fight in a guy. If you surrender now, I might even let you live. Then again, you're a cop… and witnesses are problematic enough as they- AHHH!"

Jim's fist connected heavily with her jaw and sent her stumbling for a moment. He used the time to draw his gun, although he was not too convinced it would help much.

"Didn't your parents teach you that you shouldn't hit a woman?"  
She was straightening herself, pushing her long tussled hair out of her face.

"Yeah… if a woman tries to kill me, I make an exception."  
Carefully, he took a step back and aimed his gun at her chest.  
"Hands in the air, I don't want to hurt you, but I won't hesitate if you try something again."

To his surprise, the woman hardly seemed impressed. She even shrugged and kept approaching him, showing her fangs and playfully licking her lips.  
"Go on, give me your best shot."

There had been times in which culprits had been suicidal or simply crazy. Something told Jim that this woman was neither.  
"This is my last warning."

Of course, it did not stop her coming at him and when she sped up, he fired a shot at her. All of sudden she was gone. He was certain of having hit her at least somehow, and when he heard a cough behind him, he spun around and took aim again.  
The woman's shoulder was bleeding, but the flow of blood already seemed to cease and although she winced slightly, she seemed rather unimpressed.  
"That stung…"

Jim swallowed hard. Slowly he noticed that his situation was way worse than he had realized.  
"Shit…"

He fired a few shots, turned around and ran towards the door that led into the club.  
But before he could reach it, he was pulled back violently. The gun was knocked out of his hand and his head bent so that she had better access to his neck. His breath was heavy, he rarely panicked in a dangerous situation, but he most certainly felt scared now. He had no idea how to get out of this alive, she was too fast, too strong and bullets hardly seemed to bother her. If he cried for help now, no one inside the club would hear, and outside, no one would care.

His mind was racing and just as he could feel her lips touching his skin, there was loud shriek and she suddenly let go of him.  
Relieved but alarmed, he spun around only to witness two people fighting impossibly fast. He could see that the other person was dressed in dark colors, was bald and… were those suspenders hanging from the guy's hips?

The hand he felt on his shoulder made his heart skip a beat. He cringed and held his breath, but the low chuckle he heard then made him feel a wave of relief.

"Sorry to startle you, old friend."  
Oswald smiled smugly.  
"It's five minutes to midnight, enough time left to call me, don't you think?"


End file.
